Promises Defended
by Robin4
Summary: War has been raging for 22 years. The government is in pieces, the Aurors are crippled, and the Order is struggling to hold the world together. Little stands between Voldemort and victory, save the bonds between four friends. AU. Last in UU trilogy.
1. Prologue: Promises Deferred

Author's Note: This is an Alternate Universe story set in the Unbroken Universe. It is third in a trilogy consisting of _Promises Unbroken _and _Promises Remembered_.

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters or settings of _Harry Potter_, but the concept and creation of the Unbroken Universe are mine. I simply thank J.K. Rowling for being so kind to those of use who like to play in her sandbox.

* * *

**Promises Defended

* * *

**

One Choice.

One Chance.

One End.

* * *

_Prologue: Promises Deferred

* * *

_

_October 10, 1992_

Somehow, he supposed that it had to be this way. Maybe, just maybe, there had been no avoiding this outcome, no way to avoid _this _aspect of his many choices. Or perhaps he simply had to run away.

And it was too late. He had to get away, fade into the shadows, before he lost himself completely. The process had already begun—with every breath of air he sucked in, he could feel the darkness' influence growing. And every time he exhaled, it felt like losing a part of himself.

_No more. _Standing alone in a darkened room, he had spoken the words aloud, had somehow sealed his fate with them. No matter that there had been no one to listen. No matter that he had been alone—and no surprise, that. _No more. _He would draw the line. He would fight back. He would end this frightful process, one way or another. No longer would he be a pawn in the hands of darkness—or even in the hands of fate. He didn't believe in fate, and he would fight back. Even if he had to break his heart to do it.

Surprisingly steady hands had gathered all he would need: the research materials, the journal, and his wand. Then he had closed the door behind him, leaving the others to find what he left behind—very little, in the grand scheme of things: a taint of Dark Magic, a few handwritten notes of no consequence, a slightly charred robe damaged through a bit of juvenile carelessness, an upended stool, and a trio of empty cauldrons. There were no clues, no story of where he had gone. There was simply emptiness.

He had not returned to his quarters in the Main Villa; there was nothing in the Old Suite that he could not do without. Instead, he had headed west of the lab and almost to the island's shore, feeling something building within him the entire way. Was that sorrow? It was impossible to tell. Somehow, he had become distanced from his emotions, distanced from his humanity. He could, however, feel the emptiness. It grew with every moment, even when speaking to a man who Sirius _knew _he should not have treated so coldly. Even when James had tried to reach out, the emptiness refused to fade.

And so he left. Before he could drag them down, before he could force his friends to watch him become the monster they so feared. He left as another had before, in secret and in silence, knowing not when he would return or even if it would matter. He was consciously following in another's footsteps, praying that he might find a different road within the darkness and knowing that the odds proclaimed he would not. But he had to. There was no other way.

The doors to SecApp opened for him without protest, almost as if the island was glad to be rid of him. The Isle of Light did not take kindly to the presence of a creature who should have felt at home upon her darker twin, located less than twenty miles to the north and eager to embrace him. Dark and light—linked islands that would have symbolized their conflict if only the world remembered enough to recognize their significance. But he did not travel to the darker twin, welcome though he would have been. Instead, Sirius fled before the part of him that ached for that darkness could take over. He would not give in.

He would not accept.

_"And still the offer remains."_

The words echoed in his ears, three hundred and six days later.

_"Remember that."_

He remembered. How could any sane man forget?

Except he wasn't sane. Not really, and not anymore. Not yet. Sirius shivered, from what he now realized was not external cold. The cause was the darkness within him, the cold hands that gripped him. Hands he had no way to escape—save one. This one.

So he fled Avalon, speaking to no one, and leaving no evidence of where he was headed. In truth, he did not know himself—he had no way to know. He could only run away from everything he held dear in hopes of saving it. Of saving himself.

Even as he Disapparated, he knew it was wrong.

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	2. Chapter 1: Faded Into Shadows

**Promises Defended

* * *

**

_Chapter One: Faded Into Shadows_

* * *

Street after street.

House after house.

Burning. Maiming. Cursing. Slaying.

Sport, they called it. Justice, they claimed. Darkness reigned. Masked figures danced through the streets at will, driving those they did not kill towards the town's center. The dead bodies were left to rot. They did not matter.

"Pathetic, really," she commented from his left.

Lucius smiled. He'd have known her anywhere even if she had not spoken—the way she moved, the set of her shoulders, and the simple flick of a wrist to indicate the cowards and fools whom their compatriots drove forward gave her away every time—and he did not have to turn to face her. She knew he was smiling. Narcissa always did.

"Yes," he agreed. "They are."

A child lagged behind the pack, looking nervously over her shoulder as if she thought one of the trailing Death Eaters might curse her. Lucius smiled to himself once again, and resisted the urge to laugh. _Might._ Oh, if only the brat knew.

Muddy brown hair was caked to the Mudblood's forehead—how _appropriate!_—and she stumbled over a dead body because she was too busy looking back to notice what lay ahead. Doing so made her drop her stuffed toy, and she yelped in surprise.

"Hurry up!" her mother snapped as the girl tried to pick it up. The blonde witch dragged the girl along by her wrist, and Narcissa slid closer to Lucius. She glanced up at him, and he saw perfect teeth glitter in a smile behind her mask.

Together, they wandered behind the hapless cluster of Hogsmeade residents, who Flint and Dolohov were busy driving forward at a reckless pace. Dolohov laughed as he hexed the stragglers. The Malfoys simply waited.

And then it happened. The little muddy haired brat jerked free of her mother and bolted for the teddy bear (Muggle, no doubt). She slipped in a puddle of blood, but picked herself up and kept going, seemingly unaware of the eyes upon her.

"Do you want to, or shall I?" Narcissa asked.

Lucius offered her a half bow, no mean feat when walking. "A gentleman would never stand in the way of a lady's sport."

She chuckled. "Thank you, love."

Out came the wand, a beautiful affair of oak and unicorn hair. Exactly eleven inches long, and quite flexible. She handled it as expertly as ever, bringing her hand up with a kind of grace that had always made Bellatrix go green with envy. Then again, Bellatrix had _always _been consumed by power.

_"Crucio."_ She did not need to shout.

The child screeched with pain and collapsed just inches shy of her teddy bear. Immediately, the mother turned back, screaming her daughter's name and rushing towards her side—but Lucius was there, and his hand landed hard on her bony shoulder. The touch was meant to hurt, but he doubted she noticed.

The brat kept screaming.

"I wouldn't do that, if I were you," he drawled.

She fought his inflexible hold and babbled something incoherent ending with "…my daughter!"

Lucius laughed and let her wrench free.

_"Crucio!"_

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She stood by his side, occupying the place of honor at his right hand, and watched them squirm. Perhaps a hundred cowards filled the space between Honeydukes and the Hog's Head, whimpering and milling around as much as they dared—which was not much. They spoke in whispers, staring at the Death Eaters, at the bodies of their loved ones, at the burnt-out shell of the post office, whose workers had declared that they would rather die than surrender…and who had been quickly obliged. Their ashes peppered the ground quite nicely.

She watched him, though the residents of Diagon Alley dared not. She watched his every move: graceful and measured, confident and powerful. And so patient. He waited.

The screams in the distance were like music to her ears, and she smiled when he turned to her, bowing her head in respect.

"Bring me the children, Bella."

"Yes, Master."

Quickly, she gestured to Rodolphus and the Jugsons, and they approached eagerly. Rodolphus, of course, grinned at her, but Bellatrix had a job to do. "The children," she snapped, stepping into the crowd. "Now."

They did not bother asking. They did not waste time upon kindness or polite words. Hands reached out and dragged children away from parents, sisters away from brothers. They purposefully separated family members, pulling the children off to the side and leaving them in Martha Blackwood's care—after all, the sadistic healer seemed to _like _children in her own special way. Bellatrix giggled as the other woman shot her a glare, then smiled sweetly.

"Chain them," she ordered pleasantly. Some foolish mother screamed.

Movement at her back, then a _thump_, followed by a muffled yelp. Bellatrix spun, wand at the ready, only to see Snape standing not ten feet behind her, with one victim at his feet and his wand screwed tightly against the neck of another. She could sense his cold smile behind the mask.

_"Crucio."_The whispered curse made the man scream like a possessed animal, and Snape let him collapse, whimpering on the ground. He lay there twitching as Snape stepped over him, hardly sparing a glance at the crying children.

"Do please silence them," Snape said irritably. "Their mewing is growing tiresome."

Bellatrix giggled. "Rodolphus, if you please."

"Gladly." He almost bounced in glee. _"Verberovox!"_

_Crack._

The children screamed and clumped together; those hit by the energy whip yowled in pain and tried to escape, but Martha had done her work as efficiently as usual, and they were trapped. The noise, of course, did not lessen, but it did grow much more musical. _Crack. _Screeches. _Crack. _Crying. _Crack. _Some girl started begging, only to be caught full in the face by Rodolphus' whip. He had excellent aim.

Of course, the parents rushed forward, praying that they could take the Death Eaters by surprise. Instead, they encountered a rather irate Severus Snape, and he threw the first wave back on his own before the other Death Eaters even got a chance to join in.

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The smell of burnt flesh was nauseating. He couldn't bear to look behind him—not at the children—so he looked ahead, hardly liking that view better. He'd used an Incinerator to drive the first group back, and had thrown rather more power into it than he would have chosen to—but there was no choice. Not here.

And perhaps, nevermore.

The crowd was growing as the stragglers were driven in. Lucius and Narcissa trailed the last group, strolling side by side as if they were out for a romantic walk on the beach. Yet the crowd shrank as many parents tried desperately—mindlessly—to reach their children. Some stood frozen, staring and terrified, as their children were tortured. Severus did not dare look back. He could still hear.

_Crack!_

Children screaming in pain.

_Crack!_

Parents shouting their loved ones' names, pushing over dead and dying bodies only to become dead and dying themselves. _Don't they know it's useless?_ He wanted to scream.

_Crack!_

Rodolphus laughing.

_"Imperio!"_ His own voice, targeting a young witch who he thought taught at Hogsmeade's small primary school. A moment of focus sent her wheeling upon the others in the crowd, forcing them back and away from death. It was a more bloodless way to push them back, though he knew she certainly wouldn't thank him for it. And then Lucas Whitby came sailing out of the crowd at Snape with murder in his eyes.

_"Incendio!"_ He'd been a Death Eater too long when his first instinct was to kill, and Snape felt a twinge of regret. Whitby never even collapsed; he simply combusted. A moment later, the fireball was gone, and young Kevin Whitby—due to start at Hogwarts in less than two years—was screaming for his father.

Bellatrix laughed and cursed the boy.

The crowd kept coming.

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They stopped ten minutes later, fools that they were, as Bellatrix and the others dragged the children away. Battered and bleeding, the living clumped up behind the wall of the dead, weeping as the last of the children disappeared. Snape just stood and watched them, glad that no one could see how pale his face was beneath his mask.

Six of the children would never leave; Rodolphus had been a bit overenthusiastic, and their bodies lay amid the blood left behind by the others. One mourning father attempted to approach his dead daughter's side, but was immediately stopped by Narcissa Malfoy's bone breaker. He collapsed to the ground with a broken back as the Death Eaters laughed. He squirmed for several moments, then went still, defeated.

So did the crowd. They whimpered and stared, trying to shrink back. Didn't they realize that there was nowhere to hide?

Lucius approached the Dark Lord, bowing gracefully. "They are all here, My Lord."

More whimpers from the crowd, but Voldemort ignored them. Slowly, his head turned and his red eyes focused on Lucius. Snape's old friend shivered. "Are they?"

"Here or dead, Master."

The laughter started quietly, and then grew as the Dark Lord began to smile. "And so they are," he said dangerously. Suddenly, he twisted to stare at the crowd, his voice dropping to whisper. "Except one. There is _one _missing."

The front ranks of the crowd tried to push back, but those behind them would not give way. Someone cried out when shoved, and one of the young wizards in the forefront of the group collapsed. And Voldemort laughed louder.

"Where is your hero now?" he demanded.

Even Snape shivered. Someone screamed.

"Well?"

Honeydukes and the Hog's Head exploded, and the crowd wailed as they were pelted by fire and debris, trying to move even closer together. Smoke filled the air, but Voldemort laughed.

"Will no one fight me?"

"No…no…nonononono…" Terrified whispers emerged from the mass of humanity, making no sense except for that one word. _Fools._ Snape felt sick.

"No…never…no…"

They were still mumbling, praying that they might deflect his wrath. Except the Dark Lord was not angered, and that frightened Severus more than any fury might have—because the anger boiled beneath the surface, waiting. He swallowed just as Voldemort shrugged.

"Very well. Kill them."

Screams.

More screams.

Living nightmare.

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The Other Author's Note: Thanks to everyone who has been with me since the start, and to all of you who have joined along the way. I do hope you've liked this chapter, and stay tuned for Chapter Two: All Hope Fades in the next few days. Please let me know what you think!


	3. Chapter 2: All Hope Fades

**Promises Defended

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**

_Chapter Two: All Hope Fades_

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That had only been the beginning. Day after day and night after night, it continued, until even his students started to notice the exhaustion etched into Snape's features. Most of them, of course, guessed at the cause—the attacks made headlines, and even the most foolish of the children knew where their Potions Master went at night. But, in truth, it wasn't so much the lack of sleep as it was the nightmares.

He was living one all over again.

It had stared on October 17th, the day after Voldemort learned that Black had disappeared from Avalon. The Aurors had succeeded in keeping the news quiet for almost a week, but when it broke, the newspapers went crazy. And, if reports were right (and Bella usually was where the Dark Lord was concerned), Voldemort had lost his temper.

Hence Hogsmeade.

Snape still felt sick thinking about it, and had felt even more sick the next morning, when he'd accompanied the other Hogwarts professors to help bury the dead. Usually, he cared not for what they thought of him, but the betrayed looks had started eating at his soul. Sinistra was the worst; the two of them had worked together for years, and though they'd never been especially _friendly_, her remarks had hurt. So had her coldness, after her tears had dried.

"I had thought even you would not stoop so low," Auriga had hissed, then walked away without giving him a chance to reply.

He couldn't have, anyway, but that didn't keep him from wanting to. She didn't understand that it wasn't his choice, and that he would have given anything to break away from the vicious cycle of darkness. None of them understood—even Remus had looked at him with horrified eyes before turning away. Never had Severus missed Dumbledore so badly. Nor had he ever felt so alone.

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_He was present five days later for Stephen Hoppner's death, watched the former Auror turned famous historian die like a mythical hero of old. He had watched the choice offered and rejected, and then had watched the public ignore the courage shown by a dying man._

_"Will you not reconsider, Stephen?" Lucius asked quietly, so quietly. Was there a message in the fact that Voldemort had sent only the senior members of other ancient families to persuade this man? A Malfoy. A Snape. A Lestrange. A Black—though Malfoy by marriage, still of the oldest by blood. But no Bellatrix. She was not reasonable._

_And this was oh so reasonable._

_Hoppner did not bother to reply. He bore the pain well, but then again, he had borne Azkaban well. Compared to that, this was nothing._

_Hour after hour.__ Stephen's wife and young daughter were unconscious in a corner, mostly by Snape's doing. But he had not spared them through compassion. That pair was permitted to live because the Dark Lord had other plans for them. The son was grown, barely out of Hogwarts, but not at home. He would be dealt with later._

_Dawn came, and still the senior of the Hoppners had not cracked. He would not, and they knew it, so instead they made him scream. Rodolphus was not his wife's equal in the art of torture, but together, the four Death Eaters coated the floor in blood. Old and pure blood._

_Moments like this had been what had turned Snape away from darkness in the first place._

_Still, Hoppner had remained defiant to the last, fighting back the pain to laugh at his tormentors and ask if that was the best they could do. Brave man. Foolish man._

_Like the others, he died, though more nobly than most. And with far less purpose._

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He had also been present the day that Stephen Hoppner's young son, Gnaeus, had taken the Mark to save his mother and sister. Both still languished in Azkaban, but neither was harmed. They were even permitted to be together, though that did not help against the Dementors. He remembered the looks on their faces when he had brought them there.

Oh, he remembered.

"Why do you do this to yourself?" Severus whispered raggedly, forcibly pulling his head out of his hands. His elbows were sore after resting on his desk for so long.

He sighed and shook his head, wishing that he could clear it. But there was no real answer. No reason why. Only an inability to sleep and nightmares that haunted him as nothing had done for years. The Dark Lord was winning, and he wanted to be sick. _You're already sick, Severus, _he reminded himself harshly. _Twisted and cruel, remember?_

Even his own anger could no longer sting, and he rose once more, trying to head for bed again. Perhaps he might sleep a few hours before the nightmares returned, before he saw the faces of those he had killed. Odd how Hoppner did not haunt him so much as the others, but Hoppner had not exactly been innocent. He had made his choice long ago.

And yet… Out of the corner of his eye, Snape caught the headline on the front page of the _Daily Prophet_, and he cringed.

**QUEST ABANDONED**, read the title of the most prominent article, written by Keith Lindsay. It was merely the sequel to an earlier piece by Charles Li, which had been more creatively titled **LAST AND NO HOPE**, but for some reason, the article made him feel empty inside.

Twenty-nine days since the news had broken. Thirty-six since the event had happened, according to Remus, who would know. Had it been something else, Severus would have been surprised to find that the papers were still fixated on the same subject, but this was different. This was tragic.

He had watched as the papers tore Sirius Black to shreds, first protesting his actions with grief and later with anger. The public reaction was much the same—a loss of hope that bordered on fury, and an emptiness that the war only amplified each day. Once, Severus would have felt vindicated, savagely satisfied. Now, though, he was torn between rejoicing and terror. _Does he not know what he has done?_ But a small corner of Severus' mind could understand, and he remembered the look in Black's eyes when he had asked for those three dangerous potions.

Many wondered if Black would return, having sided with Voldemort and forever lost to the light. Looking in those eyes, though, had told Severus that he never would. This was a man who would fight or die trying.

But heroes were of no use when they ran away.

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No matter. The war effort was plunging into darkness.

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November 12th. It would have been a beautiful day had the Ministry of Magic not been burning.

Months of work had gone into reconstructing the Ministry, into making it as impregnable as possible. Careful construction and wards had been put into place in order to protect the hundreds of workers inside, and even the depressing _Daily Prophet _had good things to say about the new Ministry's chances against future attack. The new building had opened, with much fanfare, only a week beforehand, complete and ready to be a symbol of the continuing fight against darkness. James Potter had spoken well, of hopes, of dreams, and of new beginnings.

Snape stood with the others and laughed as the Ministry burned. Stood and watched innocents attempt to dive out of the way. Some succeeded, and some did not. In that first attack, they captured Marcy Basil. In the second, less than two weeks later, they captured Mafalda Hopkirk. Minor functionaries died in both, but Basil was a department head and one of James' staunchest supporters. Snape knew her loss was a blow to the Ministry, knew James needed her, especially in the aftermath of Black's disappearance and Dung Fletcher's death—Fudge was not the only one who claimed that Potter was losing his grip. Basil's presence held the department heads in balance, kept power narrowly on James' side. That, of course, had not stopped him from capturing her.

Even life in Azkaban beat death.

So he fought, and he killed, and he captured, even though Snape—unlike the fools that he led—understood that this strike was not meant to take the Ministry. The goal was simple: kill a dozen or so, snipe at any Aurors who dared to show their faces, and laugh. Laugh as the Ministry fell all over itself in a failure.

Fail they did. Even Alice Longbottom couldn't straighten out that mess, try though she did. _Something was missing. _But three Aurors could not stand up to a dozen and a half Death Eaters, especially with Ministry employees getting in the way. And they could not succeed like this.

And those innocent bystanders were _good _at getting in the way. Snape killed one when trying to hit Alice Longbottom with a Bone Breaker—he'd been aiming for her _leg_, but the idiot had managed to fall on his face right in the curse's path, and his skull had exploded. Interestingly, Alice hadn't even yelped when the fragments had sprayed her in the face. She'd only targeted Snape with an Imperius Curse that almost took him down.

Sometimes, he wondered which side he was _really _on.

_"Incendio!"_

He almost lit her on fire without meaning to—which quite neatly proved the point he was always trying to make to his students: _pay attention!_—and dove aside when Alice's pesky student aimed some mild curse his way. That was the problem with former Hogwarts students. Unless they turned out to be Death Eaters, they were inevitably trying to kill him.

Even as Snape rolled to his feet, an explosion rocked the ground out from under him and sent him face down once more. He swore and hauled himself to his feet.

"Let's go," he ordered the others, and got some mutinous glares in response, especially from Osborne Blackwood, who had somehow acquired delusions of grandeur about his position in the Death Eater hierarchy. But a meaningful gesture with his wand drove Osborne on—the other did not doubt that Snape would hex him on the spot and drag him twitching from the Ministry.

Besides, the last explosion had been the conclusion of their raid. The Ministry's shiny new gates—donated, he suspected, by Salamander's—were burning brightly, despite the idiots' best efforts to put them out. _Fools_. The fires would burn for hours.

By then, the Death Eaters would be on Azkaban, listening again to the screams.

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"Where are they?" James asked softly.

Snape threw him a sideways look. "On Azkaban, of course," the other replied. "I thought you knew."

"Maybe I did." James sighed and glanced at the old and ornate calendar that hung on his office wall—another object inherited from Dumbledore, but one that he actually liked. November 14th. Two days after the attack on the Ministry and almost a month after Voldemort's strike on Hogsmeade. A month and four days since Sirius had disappeared. "It's just…" He never bothered to say the words: _they're children._ Snape was aware of that fact, and could not afford to show whatever—if anything—he felt on the subject. "We need Sirius."

"Tell that to him," Snape retorted.

James felt his shoulders slump. "I would if I could find him."

"Some friend."

"Don't say that," James snapped.

Two black eyebrows rose. "Is it not true?"

"You have no right to judge him!" It was hard not to shout, impossible not to snarl. He knew he was getting angry for little reason, but James could not help himself. His nerves were frayed, and the pressure was still growing.

"Don't I?" Snape countered coldly. "I have seen what he is doing. I have seen the road he is walking. And I, for one, would be surprised if he _dares _to return." His eyes flashed. "Do not delude yourself, Potter. If he does, he will not be the man you remember."

"You can't know that. You can't be sure," James retorted, fighting back the nausea that rose in his stomach. "You don't know him."

The answer was cold. "Neither will you."

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Two pieces of news broke on November 22nd, each worse than the last. The first was that blinded Auror Gabriel Binns had finally checked out of St. Mungo's on the evening of the 21st, heading for home with his sister. A short battle had broken out on the streets of Muggle London, but a blind Auror had not fared well against a half dozen Death Eaters—especially when his twin sister was slain by Bellatrix Lestrange. Evidence suggested that Samantha Binns had fought well—but not well enough.

Her obituary had screamed for Sirius Black's return, and had blamed him for the world's sudden shift to darkness. Heroes, Charles Li pointed out, did not turn their back upon those who needed them most. Sirius Black had walked away, but he owed the Wizarding world more than that. They needed his help, and who was he to refuse them? Wasn't the world worth more than _whatever _he was doing? It was his fault that Samantha Binns had turned into just another innocent with another wasted life.

And her brother was just another Auror, rotting in Azkaban. His arrival brought the estimated total of prisoners up to one hundred and twenty-seven, including one hundred and twenty-two children, all between the ages of four and eleven. Children who had no families left to fight for them.

So the _Prophet _tried, and ended up pinning the blame—and the responsibility—on Sirius Black.

Worse still, was Laçenne.

Rarely had Voldemort struck at mainland Europe, but France's alliance with England seemed to end that amnesty. Only minutes after Bellatrix Lestrange and her companions captured Gabriel Binns, yet another strike took place—this one the oldest _purely _Wizarding town in the world. Many modern-day magical traditions could be traced to Laçenne, and almost every important Wizarding family had relatives there. Laçenne was even the ancestral home of the Montagues, fifth of the Fourteen. It was the oldest town in their world, and everyone who was anyone had been there. Few were those who did not love it—beautifully perched at the mouth of the Seine, Laçenne was everything a Wizarding town should have been.

Most of Laçenne's residents expected that to keep them safe, even though the town had firmly declared for Eugène Legarde. They were proud to say that their president hailed from the oldest of all Wizarding towns, and they were prouder still to say that he was right. Darkness had to be fought.

Within an hour, the town was empty save for the bodies. Voldemort and his followers did not touch a single one of the ancient and famous buildings—the Dark Lord simply ordered the extermination of the entire population. Two thousand year old buildings he left alone. Three thousand five hundred witches and wizards he slew—most in their sleep, but some fighting. Within sixty short minutes, Laçenne had become a ghost town in the truest sense of the word.

All except five. Five Aurors Voldemort hauled off to Azkaban: Christophe Montague, Thierry Moreau, Charlotte Fournier, Josette Simon, and Marie Roux. All had fought. All went down.

Five more to Azkaban.

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Prisoner number one hundred and thirty-three was Sam Ackerly. A former Auror and father of the late Edward Ackerly (slain in the Riddle House Raid), he had been inexplicably pulled from his home, after watching his wife and nine year old son tortured to death. What Voldemort wanted with a man who had already broken was beyond the magical community's comprehension, but to Azkaban Ackerly went.

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Next was Mafalda Hopkirk, captured during that second attack upon the Ministry. Although less damaging than the first—physically speaking—the death toll reached twenty-seven Ministry workers, over three-quarters of which were killed during that second attack. Fudge screamed bloody murder and James vowed revenge, but no amount of pretty speeches could heal the damage done.

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Then it grew more complicated.

Avalon. 25 November 1992. With the year coming to a close and a new Auror class (4905) due on the first of January, French and British Aurors were working at a feverish pace to standardize tactics, procedure, and—most importantly—to learn from one another. The French had not been embroiled in a war for almost a century, and their last major threat had been a rather weak dark wizard, especially when compared to Voldemort or Grindelwald, both of whom Britain had faced alone. But while the British had experience, the French had the advantage of numbers. They hadn't had an Azkaban raid, a destroyed Ministry, or a Diagon Alley. They were still strong.

"Jean…?" Bill Weasley walked into Avalon's main hall, hating what he had to do. The head of all French Aurors looked up from his coffee and quirked an eyebrow.

"Ouais?"

Bill swallowed.

He couldn't help liking Jean—although the Frenchman was a bit prickly at times, he had a lively sense of humor and his president's ear. Due to Jean's intervention, there were now nine French Aurors on Avalon…and the plans were to bring the newest class of French Aurors there as well. This, of course, was a secret that none of the Aurors had shared with their respective governments; Alice had just nodded grimly and said that they could find out when they found out.

But finding out was not always a good thing.

Slowly, Bill lowered himself into the chair across from Jean, and watched the older wizard's face tighten ominously. Bill was usually good at hiding his emotions, but in this case, he was certain that he wore the truth on his face. Unable to stop himself, he swallowed hard.

"What is wrong, Bill?" Jean asked quietly, as if afraid of his own voice.

He had to take a deep breath before speaking. "There was…an attack." _Get it over with, Weasley! _he ordered himself. _Don't' make him suffer!_ "Death Eaters, last night. Your wife—"

Jean did not speak, but his face went white the moment the word left Bill's mouth. Ever so slowly, his hands rose to cover his mouth and his eyes went wide.

"I am so sorry," Bill whispered, feeling the inadequacies of the remark immediately. But what else was there to say?

"Is…" Jean sucked in a deep breath, struggled for self control. "Is she—"

"Yes," Bill replied as gently as he could. But Aurors would not lie to each other, even when a gulf of nationalities and age lay between them. "Here."

The small piece of paper hung in the air between them for several moments before Jean accepted it, his hands shaking. It wasn't much—just a scrap of a note handed from one Auror to the other through a fireplace when they didn't feel that even owl post could be trusted. Bill had already read it because he hadn't known who it was for; unsealed, the note bore no address and his counterpart had disappeared too quickly to tell the English Auror who to give it to. Now, though, it made him feel like a peeping tom.

Jean unfolded the note slowly and read the few lines. Bill watched his eyes shut for a moment, and then open again, clear and focused. The French Auror swallowed.

"I need to go," he said softly. "For now. I must tell her family…They're Muggles, you know. They won't understand."

A partially sheepish, partially forced smile crossed his face, and Bill rose with him.

"Would you like some company?" he asked before even considering the words. He had duties on Avalon, but they could wait.

"No." Jean shook his head calmly. "I will go alone."

Bill swallowed. "Don't—"

"Do anything foolish?" Jean finished for him, shaking his head. "My friend, I would not. Not yet. And"—finally, his voice cracked—"there is too much yet to be done."

"Your family…?"

"Long dead."

Bill didn't quite know what to say to that; he could only stand and watch as Jean walked out of the hall, calm and collected but missing _something _that had been there only minutes before. The charismatic and cheerful Frenchman had gone quiet, and his steps were no longer so certain. It was the same for everyone when they lost family members, but Jean had the distinction of being the first in a new category. Voldemort was now targeting French Aurors, too.

--------------

"It feels like a betrayal, meeting here," Peter said quietly. Remus nodded in silence, sitting next to the fire and poking it ever so often with an actual poker—heaven only knew where he got one of those in the ancient Black household. Perhaps it had been there all along.

"How do you think I feel every day?" James asked glumly. "I live here."

"Why don't you just rebuild Godric's Hollow?" Peter asked sensibly.

James shrugged. "Easier said than done. But we will. Eventually."

"Anyway," Remus interjected when no one else wanted to speak. His chest felt heavy. "About Sirius."

"Yeah." Peter winced.

"We need to find him." There were times that Remus hated being the voice of reason, even if it was his natural role. And he hated stating the obvious.

"I'm running out of ideas," James admitted, scrubbing his hands over his face and shoving his glasses aside irritably to rub his eyes. "He's not responding to letters—they all come back without even being opened. And we've looked everywhere… the Shrieking Shack, Avalon, his old flat, the caves outside Hogsmeade, every Muggle and Magical park between here and the Channel..."

"I'm starting to wonder if he's in Britain at all," Remus said when James trailed off.

"If the lost dog fliers didn't find him, he's not hiding as Padfoot," Peter added. "I peppered the whole island with them. And France."

Remus sighed. "He doesn't want to be found."

"Do we care?" James retorted, and Remus shrugged. Yes, they _did _care…but only so much. They cared for their friend, but they all had shouldered responsibilities that _should _have meant more than mere friendship—and did not. Sirius' disappearance stung. He'd been gone a month and a half.

"You ought to know, James, how hard it is to find an Auror who doesn't want to be found," Peter put in quietly.

"But not impossible," the former Auror replied quietly, and then deflated. "At least we know that Alice and the others are as lost as we are. They sent Bill Weasley and Nymphadora Tonks to look for him a couple of weeks ago, but nothing came up. Both are back on Avalon, now."

Peter groaned, and Remus could not help agreeing. Often, he tried not to think about Sirius, tried not to worry about where their friend might be and what trouble he might be in—but with James and Peter, that was impossible, and the pain welled up again. The pain and the visions.

_One figure, striding across a windswept plain.__ Dark robes whipped out behind him, dancing as the sky grew black._

_There was not even a wand in his hand, and Remus could not see his face. But Remus did not need to._

_One man._

_A storm._

_Alone._

_Walking._

_Thunder crashed._

He blinked as James' hand landed on his arm. "You alright, Moony?"

Even the nickname hurt. "I'll be fine. It was just another vision."

"Bad?" Peter asked softly.

Remus nodded mutely. He had told the others about the Font after Sirius had left, realizing that secrets could only divide them in a time they needed nothing _less _than to stand apart. Thankfully, Peter and James had understood, and they did not blame him. Sirius' long-kept secrets, however, would be harder to explain…whatever they turned out to be.

"We've got to find him," James said decisively.

"How?" Remus hated to sound so hopeless, but between the facts and his vision…everything they had fought for was dying, and all because of one man's choice to run away. "You said yourself that we've looked everywhere."

_One choice _can_ change it all._

James started to answer, then stopped himself with a helpless shrug. For a long moment, he and Remus stared at each other, trying to think of something—but only aware of how _empty _the room felt without Sirius there. It was as if they were living those dreadful ten years all over again, back when they had thought Sirius dead and gone forever. _Is that how it works? _Remus thought heartbrokenly. _We get him back for barely over a year, and then he is gone again?_ He could see the same bitterness reflected in James' hazel eyes.

"Maybe we shouldn't be the ones looking, then," Peter said suddenly.

"What?" Both Remus and James turned to stare at him, and Peter tried to smile. The effort failed, though, because he was feeling as heartsick as the other two.

"Well, we know him best. Sirius knows that…so he'll hide from us. Right?"

Remus nodded slowly. "Right…"

"So let's get someone else. Someone who has been finding things for years."

"Huh?" James looked at him blankly.

Peter smiled. "Don't worry, Prongs. I've got an idea."

--------------

Darkness and darkness.

He no longer counted the days as they passed; he simply worked, grew, bled, and remembered. Reality and dreams were growing harder to tell apart. Everything felt the same.

And the only shreds of normalcy lay between the pages of an old leather journal. It was the only sense of sanity that remained—a _purpose._ Purpose. He thought the word over and over again in the dark, though he did not think he spoke aloud. He had a purpose.

Step by step.

Day by day.

Darkness.

--------------

_Knock, knock._

"Not again!" she snarled to herself, pausing to cast an angry glance at Cleopatra, her fat, lazy, and orange cat. Pattie, of course, ignored the incessant knocking—it used to frighten her, but after the three times a day (as regular as meals) pounding, the poor creature had given up. Now she just lay on the counter and yawned.

Julia paused to knock Pattie off the counter on her way to the door—as much as she loved the cat, Pattie _had _to get out of that habit of lying on the counter. Julia could not abide cat hair in her food.

Pattie screeched at Julia as her owner flew by, snarling and spitting as she bounced off the wall and landed on her feet. Julia, however, ignored the cat. Again.

"_Ce__ qui vous veulent_?" she shouted, knowing exactly who it was and wishing that her parents hadn't raised her to be polite and never leave someone standing on the doorstep. _Why don't I just pretend I'm not home?_ she asked herself for the hundredth time, dodging around a pile of books on her way to the door. _I need to clean. Again. _She always needed to clean. Her flat might not have been dirty, but it sure was cluttered. Her mother would not have been proud.

Then again, her parents would have rolled over in their graves had they known that she was working in a Muggle city as a _Muggle _librarian. It was boring work, for the most part, but it helped her blend in, and Julia had never stopped loving books. At least it gave her something to do—and it might have even been amusing had Jerry, her erstwhile would-be suitor, not had a job in the café next door.

Muttering came from the other side of the door; at least he wasn't trying to romance her in his horrendous French. Julia spoke the French of the Fourteen, taught to her by her mother, a Montague and native of France. Jerry, on the other hand…Jerry Silverman was from New York City. And he liked to pretend that he knew French.

"_Ce qui vous veulent maintenant_?" Julia repeated, pulling the peephole away so that she could look outside. It was Jerry, of course, but she still wanted to see who she was shouting at.

"Umm…English?" Peter Pettigrew replied sheepishly, glancing up at her through the hole.

"Peter!" Julia threw the door open in surprise, then remembered to glance down the hall. Fortunately, it was still empty. "Come in, please."

"I'm alone, if that's what you're worried about," the small man said quietly, stepping inside and allowing Julia to shut (and lock) the door behind him.

She smiled. "Sorry. I've learned to be paranoid."

"Me, too."

Peter looked so uneasy that she almost asked why, but Julia stopped herself just in time. It wasn't her business of course—but why _was_ Peter here? Montreal wasn't exactly a stone's throw from his flat in London, even when you were a wizard. Again, she started to ask, then stopped herself. _Mum would kill me for forgetting my manners like this._

"Sit down, please," she finally said, shoving Pattie off the couch. "May I offer you a drink?"

"No, thanks," Peter replied, sitting and glancing around curiously. "I can't stay long, and you're probably wondering why I'm here, anyway."

"Yeah," she admitted, dropping into the armchair across from him. "I was just a _little _surprised to see you here."

Peter nodded, fidgeting a bit. "Well…how much do you know about what is happening back home?"

"A little." Julia shrugged. "Not much, really. I don't get the _Prophet _here—it'd be far too easy to find me, and owls don't make ocean travel very well, anyway. I don't get a Canadian Wizarding paper for the same reason. Besides, they mostly ignore what's going on in Europe unless it's sensational."

"So you haven't heard?"

"Heard what?"

Peter grimaced. "Sirius disappeared a month and a half ago."

"What?" Suddenly, she was short of breath and her head started spinning. "Dissa—_dead?_"

She was not quite sure how the word came out at all.

"No." Peter shook his head quickly. "Or at least we don't think so—and he's not been captured, either." Julia started breathing again. "It's just…he walked away. Left Avalon without telling anyone, and we don't know where he went."

"Walked away?" she echoed.

Peter nodded wearily. "We—me, James, and Remus—have been looking ever since he left. We've run out of ideas."

"And you want my help." Her mind was still having problems catching up with what Peter was saying, but Julia grasped that much. _Sirius is gone? Gone? _She felt cold. _Why would he run away?_

"I know that it's dangerous for you," he replied hesitantly. "And I wouldn't have come if I thought there was another way…but things are getting bad, Julia. Really bad, and we need Sirius."

"How bad?" she whispered, trying to imagine what could have brought Peter across an ocean to find her.

"Bad enough that I don't think we'll last another month." He swallowed. "We've got to find him, Julia, and you're the only chance we've got."

She stood quickly, reading sincerity in his face and knowing that Peter was a horrible liar. Had the Dark Lord wanted to trap her, Julia knew, he would never have used Pettigrew—especially since Peter had turned his back on Voldemort forever, and Julia knew he would rather die than betray his friends. Little Peter Pettigrew was far stronger than met the eye.

"Let me pack."

---------------

The Other Author's Note: This one is quite dark, I know, but it does get better in the future. The plot has started to untangle itself in my mind, and I promise a ride at least as entertaining as _Promises Unbroken _and _Promises Remembered. _So stick around for Chapter Three: Search and Destroy in the coming week, and please let me know what you think!


	4. Chapter 3: Search and Destroy

**Promises Defended

* * *

**

_Chapter Three: Search and Destroy_

* * *

December 21st. The day of departure and seventy-two days after Sirius Black had disappeared, wounding the Magical World beyond reckoningThe _Daily Prophet_portrayed him alternately as a traitor or as a fatally flawed hero, seemingly unable to decide which he was. Many times they called him a coward—and worse names, as well. Always they screamed for his return, though even those articles grew less confident with time. But Rita Skeeter's had been the most fitting: 

**ALL HOPE FADES TO BLACK.**

The phrase kept running through his head.

Once, Remus would have wanted to disagree with her words, but now he could not. Two and a half months ago, he would never have believed that such a thing could happen, that one wizard's action—one simple _choice_—could bring the entire world so close to ruin. But blackness had descended upon their world, blackness of _Sirius Black's _doing. Time and again, he had proven to be a hero. He had become the one light in such deep darkness, the one ray of hope in a stormy sky. Remus had _seen _him fighting at the end, known he would never fail…and others had believed, too. One man had captured the imaginations of thousands, and they had _hoped_.

Broken, now. Even disregarding Skeeter's hypothesis that the missing hero had joined the Dark Lord, hopes were now shattered. Action after action, day after day, Voldemort gained ground. Step by step, he was taking over their world, and everyone, even the Aurors, seemed to have lost the heart to fight back. The newfound alliance with France was not enough. James Potter, beloved though he was by the public, was not enough. They had been abandoned.

But that pain was nothing compared to what Sirius had done to his friends.

They rarely talked about it now. None of the three could bear it—to have lost him once, to have thought him dead, and then to watch him _run away_—Remus caught himself before he attempted to thrust a fist through the wall. Sirius' betrayal always made him want to strike out, made him want to scream. What had they _done_? How could Sirius think they would not be there for him?

_No._ Cold reality always intervened. _He always knew we were here. He just _chose_ not to accept our support._ Neither he, James, nor Peter had dared speak those words, but they all knew. Sirius had left by his own accord, and he had not returned. Why, they might not ever completely understand, but each had watched the world shatter in his absence. Remus knew the statistics by heart.

One hundred and thirty-seven in Azkaban. Rumor said that the prison was so close to overflowing that the Dark Lord allowed Dementors to kiss prisoners at random. There were only one hundred and thirty cells, Remus knew. Were some dead, or did they allow them to double up? There was no way to know.

There was only darkness.

The Order had struggled to keep up with the onslaught, even creating a miniature Project Guardian for the Ministry, but Voldemort's pace had been too fast, and his supporters too many. The Aurors had struck back as best they could, closing ranks and protecting their own, but Alice Longbottom was not nearly charismatic enough to capture their world's soul. She and Frank worked hard, but that was not enough, either. The fact that the Aurors had stayed on Avalon did not help matters. Skeeter claimed they were hiding.

Remus groaned aloud, and forced himself to step away from the wall against which he had slumped. Reminiscing would not help—no matter how much he hurt, it was time to move on. He had no choice. Seventy-two days was long enough to wait.

It was time.

--------------

"Harry, hurry up!" Hermione shouted over her shoulder. "We're going to miss the train!"

"Relax already, Hermione," Ron retorted, helping Harry lug his trunk out of the horseless carriage. "You can't miss the Hogwarts Express—especially not _this _year."

She scowled at him, but knew that Ron was right. However unlikely _that _was to happen, but this time Ron was right. This was the first year in all of Hogwarts long history (at least according to _Hogwarts, A History_, which, no matter how much the boys ridiculed her, was usually right) that all students had been required to go home for the winter holiday. Usually, at least a handful stayed at the school during this time, but two weeks ago, the headmaster had decreed that _everyone _must leave. And he had not listened to arguments, even from poor Meagan Jones, who had nowhere else to go. Her older sister was her only family, and Hestia Jones was an Auror.

Fortunately, one of the other second-year Hufflepuffs had volunteered to take Meagan in for the holidays, so things weren't as bad as they might have been. Still, Hermione found it suspicious that _everyone _had to leave; rumor even said that the professors had to go home! He'd never thought that the Headmaster was paranoid before, but now she was wondering. Hogwarts was safe. Wasn't it?

Ron and Harry were sharing the same thoughts as they jogged to catch up with Hermione. "D'you reckon he thinks Hogwarts is going to be attacked?" Ron asked eagerly.

"I don't know." Harry shrugged. "Maybe…"

"Wouldn't he have closed the school and not just sent everyone home if that were true?" Hermione countered, finding herself wedged between the boys.

"Not if he didn't want to warn the Death Eaters off," Ron replied knowledgably, making Hermione sigh.

"Honestly, Ron. Do you _really _think that Professor Lupin would endanger any students because he wanted to catch the Death Eaters off guard?" she demanded.

"Well, no," he grumbled.

"Maybe it's because of Professor Fletcher," Harry put in suddenly, and the other two turned to look at him. "I mean…every time we go to Defense Against the Dark Arts we think about him. Maybe he just wanted us to get away from the memories."

"It wouldn't be so bad if Snape wasn't teaching us," Ron grumbled. "Bad enough that we had to reorganize all our schedules because Snape took on extra classes—why do we have to learn from that slimy bastard?"

"Ron!"

"Sorry, Hermione." Ron grinned stubbornly. "But he is, and you know it."

"You shouldn't call a professor names," she replied, wishing that he wouldn't court the stupidest kinds of trouble. Ron knew better, really—and he _wasn't _stupid, despite what people often thought of him. He just didn't care, and that was the problem.

Ron grinned at Harry as they stopped at the end of the short boarding line. "Notice that she doesn't argue!"

"Neither do I!" Harry laughed.

"Ron, he's around here somewhere!" Hermione tried again, elbowing him. "What if—"

"Oh, let the greasy old bas—_bat—_hear. What do I care?"

"Perhaps, Mr. Weasley, you do not care because no one has taught you to respect your betters," the smooth voice said from behind them.

Ron spun, and Hermione made a desperate grab for his arm and missed. Harry, she noticed, succeeded in stomping on Ron's foot. Hard.

_"Ow!"_

Snape's wand flickered irritably when all three children were facing him. "That's fifty points from Gryffindor for being disrespectful, Mr. Weasley," he purred. "And another twenty, Potter, for being clumsy."

"But Professor, I—" Harry cut himself off, but Snape was having none of that.

"Yes?"

"Nothing." Harry grimaced and corrected himself. "Sir."

"But—" Ron started, only to be silenced by a swift (but carefully light) kick from Hermione. He got the message.

Snape sneered. "A further ten points from Gryffindor, Ms. Granger, for not recognizing a _lost cause_ when you see it."

And then he swept away, leaving the three Misfits wishing desperately for a brace of Dung Bombs, and sorrowfully regretting the fact that they had left such a useful tool behind. Then again, even seeing Fred or George would have brightened things considerably, but the twins had forged on ahead with Ginny in tow (Hermione would have felt sorry for the poor girl, but Ginny always seemed so happy that she could never stay mad at the Weasley twins). This time, the pair had promised to make the train ride home entertaining, and even Hermione couldn't wait to see what they had come up with while the other Misfits had been stuck in a horrendous Potions class.

"What a prat," Ron muttered.

"Ron!"

--------------

The moment he had walked into the room, he knew—Remus had been wandering through the hallways, struggling to find answers. It was time, far beyond time…and they were running out of days.

_But how?_

The question was a double-edged sword. Remus had hoped that Sirius might be found, that Julia could succeed where best friends could not, but another month would pass soon, and there was no time. The world needed more than Sirius was prepared to offer, and the Circle had to reform. If they did not do so soon, there would be no second chance. Every day Remus hesitated, the world slid further into darkness.

The other edge of the sword: the Country House had been destroyed. With it had gone the table, the trappings of the Inner Circle, every tradition they had. So, how? How to reform when the soul of the Circle had been destroyed? The answer, however, like so many others, lay in Hogwarts.

The Room of Requirement.

He found it by accident, wandering and searching his mind for answers. Down to the Founder's Door he had traveled, to stare at the dull grate that hid the Font for hours. Nothing had changed in that time, though. Remus had just stared, and had not even had visions to keep him company. Just loneliness. Loneliness and the weight of knowledge, of knowing that he had to act and not knowing how. Until he made a wrong turn heading for the library—something he never did—and opened the wrong door.

The chairs were waiting.

All eight of them.

Perfect, just as he remembered.

The oak table was still oval, shining and just slightly darker than most wood of that kind. It looked brand new yet impressively ancient at the same time; there was still an aged quality to the wood that Remus had always wondered if anyone else noticed. And the same words, words he knew by heart, were engraved in the exact center of the table in rounded script:

**_Wisdom opposes Power._**

**_Time precedes Discovery._**

**_Secrecy counters Knowledge._**

**_Temptation reveals Truth._**

A shiver ran down Remus' spine as he stood just inside the doorway, staring at those four lines. He had never thought to see them again, had thought the table destroyed with the Country House, but here they were, in defiance of all Voldemort's power and dark acts. Could the table have survived? Even in a world of magic, was that possible? Or had the Room of Requirement, once again, simply done what was _required_? Remus swallowed. Some questions, perhaps, were best left unanswered.

His hands instinctively came down on the back of the closest chair; looking down, the Order's head saw the elegant white tendrils carved into the wood, twisting together and reaching up until they displayed the word _Wisdom_ on the chair's back. That word, which Remus had always linked with Dumbledore's power, lay framed between his two hands, beautiful, white, and pure. Stainless. _Wise._ The wood was strong, almost timeless—solid. The chair would not break, Remus knew, even if he used all of his strength against it.

The other chairs were the same, too; the exact same design that he remembered, detail for detail. Knowledge, his old seat, in gold; Time in blue; red for Discovery. Power was still black—was that significant, or was that just his heart wishing?—and Secrecy was bronze. Silver for Temptation; Truth in gray. No difference, save those who would someday occupy the seats. Someday.

_Soon._

Remus lifted his hands and took a deep breath. "It _is _time," he whispered incredulously. He had hoped…hoped it was not. "For better or for worse," the Order's head breathed in the silence. "It is time."

--------------

"Ow! Hey, watch where you're going!" Hermione yelped in surprise, suddenly shoved aside as someone walked right up on her heels and kept going. Had Ron not stepped in the way, it might have ended there.

"Watch where I'm going?" Draco Malfoy spat back before Harry could completely turn around. The blonde haired boy glared at Hermione. "Do you think I'd touch you on _purpose?_ Do you think I want you to contaminate me?"

They had been just about to board the train when Malfoy and his friends had appeared, and the trio turned together to face their rivals. Crabbe and Goyle flanked Malfoy like statues framing a portrait, leering down at Hermione, who suddenly seemed very small between Harry and Ron.

"Contaminate?" Ron snarled before the other two could reply. "With what? Intelligence?" He sneered. "And we can't have that, can we?"

"Filthy little blood traitor," Malfoy retorted. "You wouldn't know intelligence if it bit you—but no wonder, since your family cannot afford proper books or school supplies."

While it was true that Ron's trunk and books were a bit careworn, they weren't nearly as bad as the set Ron had owned when Harry had first met him—promotion to Deputy Minister of Magic had increased more than just Arthur Weasley's public standing—and the battering that trunk had taken had all happened in the last year, mostly due to experiments by the Misfits and general mayhem in the second year Gryffindor boys' dorm. Still, Malfoy probably didn't realize that the Weasleys had moved up in the world—and he wouldn't have cared even if he did.

"At least my father hasn't earned his way by licking up Voldemort's leavings," Ron retorted.

Draco flushed brilliant red. "My father is a great man," he replied loftily, clearly struggling for control. "And he does not lower himself by consorting with Mudblood trash, fit only for—"

"Fit only for what?" Harry interrupted him, boiling with anger. For too long the Misfits had used pranks for revenge, allowing the Slytherins to say what they wanted and act like it didn't matter. But it _did _matter, and people like Hermione didn't deserve to hear this trash. "Go ahead, Malfoy. Say it. What are you afraid of?"

"Afraid, Potter?" the other sneered. "Why would _I_ be afraid?"

"Maybe because you know you're going to lose."

"Lose?" Draco laughed. "Haven't you seen the headlines, Pothead? How could we lose, when _your _army is full of traitors, half-breeds, and Mudbloods?"

"You keep saying that word as if it should hurt me," Hermione finally spoke up, her voice hard and eyes sharp. She laughed harshly. "Do you think I'm made of glass, Malfoy, ready to break at your command?"

He flushed again, clearly furious that she dared laugh at him. "You will break! You, your family, and all the other unworthy scum like you! You'll all break and die!"

_Crack!_

Before either Harry or Ron could react, Hermione swung and landed a slap straight across Malfoy's face, immediately making his left cheek glow angrily. He yelped and jumped back, crashing into a very confused Crabbe, then flinched as Hermione took a menacing step forward.

"Hermione, no!" Ron shouted, trying to grab her arm. He missed, however, and Harry didn't have time before Draco shrieked.

"How _dare _you? I'm a Malfoy. I'm—"

"I don't care what you are!" Hermione shouted. "And I don't care what you say about me, but you leave my family alone!"

Malfoy stumbled back, sputtering incoherently. Crabbe and Goyle obediently stepped in the way as Ron and Harry strode forward to stand on either side of Hermione again.

"You'll get yours, Mudblood!" the blond shouted, sheltering behind his bodyguards.

"Sure she will," Ron retorted.

Harry snorted, adding: "Right about when Grindelwald comes back to life sporting a pink tutu."

--------------

Fawkes delivered the letters, eight of them, bearing no names. Remus did not even begin to assume that he would receive one—for all he knew, the Final Circle might be a complete new beginning. Perhaps there were others meant to fill those seats, others who would step forward and face the darkness. A small corner of his soul hoped that was so, but Remus knew that was only the cowardly part. The corner of Remus that, like so many others, yearned for peace at any price.

But that was not to be so. Fawkes looked at Remus with infinite understanding, his eyes so much softer than they had been in months, and left one letter on the desk before disappearing in a flash of red and gold.

Slowly, Remus nodded, and reached out to touch the sealed scroll. The paper felt different than it had mere moments before when Remus had pushed his ring into the wax, felt more important. He had not intended that, did not except it or know what to do with it, but somehow the feeling was fitting. Fawkes would choose the last Circle with no interference, and Fawkes would choose well. No matter what, this final gathering would truly belong to the Order of the Phoenix.

--------------

She'd been following this trail for two weeks—the second set of tracks she'd found, and much more promising than the first—and she was slowly realizing that this, too, was a false lead. There was nothing else it could be. A now cold trail led Julia through France, Germany, and Switzerland; she had hoped to find answers in that last country, but Sirius' supposed presence turned out to be a mere rumor. The Malfoy family had connections with witches and wizards across the world, but no one had heard a peep out of Sirius Black, a man who hated to hide and could not abide being _quiet._ They knew who he was, of course—who didn't?—but no one had seen him.

Even Julia's experience failed her here. She was an expert at finding hidden things, at picking apart mysteries…but Sirius had her beat. He'd obviously taken care in choosing his hiding place, and had kept his head down. The rumors, she finally decided, were simply wishful thinking.

Except for, perhaps, this.

Pendulum Games, 72 High Street, Oxford. A charming and old looking store, the shop was well known within the Wizarding World for selling the highest quality backgammon, Go, game boards, and especially, chess sets. The proprietor, Mr. Bishop (all anyone knew of his first name was that his initial was D), kept mostly to himself, surrounding himself with the instruments of his hobby and with those who valued what he called the pendulum. Julia had no idea what that meant, but he had clearly named his shop for it. Though universally thought of as slightly odd, he was a nice old man, and had been friendly with Dumbledore— Julia remembered being shocked to see the famous wizard who had defeated Grindelwald in a mere hobby shop when she had first visited Pendulum Games, but she had seen him there many times since. Her former headmaster and Mr. Bishop had been good friends.

That, however, was not what brought her to the doorstep of Pendulum Games late on that Monday afternoon. Although Julia would continue to adore chess (one of the few interests she and Lucius truly shared), she had not come to shop for herself. Instead, she was tracking down the origin of a chance statement that she'd overheard while wandering aimlessly in Diagon Alley, carefully disguised and listening for clues. While brushing past Leslie Stimpson during a holidays sale in Madam Malkin's, Julia had overheard Stimpson claiming that she had seen Sirius entering the games shop only a few days before. Julia had known Stimpson at Hogwarts, and knew that she wasn't _that_ scatterbrained. More importantly, Stimpson had briefly dated Sirius during fourth year, which meant she knew exactly who she was looking at.

Sale forgotten, Julia Apparated into Muggle Oxford and quickly found herself standing on the doorstep of Pendulum Games. She had ducked around Oxford Blues—the Muggle menswear shop that hid Pendulum Games—and stood staring at the sign above the door for several moments. Though the shop was carefully concealed from Muggle eyes (it looked like a run down back entrance to Oxford Blues), Julia could see several customers moving around through the glass door. Most were children, shopping for their first chess set, as every Wizarding family of importance _had _to own a Bishop set, but a few were adults.

But no Sirius. Even disguised, she would have known him anywhere, and Julia bit back the need to sigh. Instead, she took a deep breath and pushed the door open, stepping inside.

_Ring. Ring._

Pendulum Games was a beautiful shop, just as she remembered it, full of chess boards and examples of every type of magical game imaginable: expensive sets of gobstones; hundreds of card decks, including one glorious and gold version of Exploding Snap; books on sport dueling; chocolate frog cards; and more. The chess sets, however, were what had made Bishop and Pendulum Games a legend. They were everywhere, lined up on beautiful glass shelves and inside glass cases, never stored in a box—because where was the fun in that? Bishop had asked her that with a smile when she was younger. Did not the game exist to be played?

The shop existed in a perpetual state of neat clutter. While the games (especially the chess sets) were immaculately clean and dust free, there were boxes stacked in corners and little slips of paper all over the place. The wood floors were also clean where one could see them, but a stack of stuffed animals was heaped in one corner—on top of which was a penguin wearing a bright red beret. _Strange_.

His head came up before the bell even finished ringing, and he smiled the same enigmatic smile that he always had. Silver-haired and depressingly ordinary-looking, Mr. Bishop transformed when he smiled; sometimes, he reminded Julia of an especially naughty urchin. "Julia Malfoy!" he exclaimed. "What an unexpected pleasure!"

He bowed with an exaggerated and old-fashioned flourish, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. Julia inclined her head solemnly in response, grinning despite herself. Mr. D. Bishop always made her smile.

"Thank you for the kind welcome, Mr. Bishop," she replied. "I didn't expect you to remember me."

"But of course I do. Always here with your older brother, I recall, and always much more interested than he." He cocked his head slightly. "I do hope you still play?"

"Of course."

The proprietor stepped out from behind the counter, gesturing at the shelves to his right. "I've acquired some truly remarkable sets since you were last in—including one which belonged to my great grandfather that I had thought lost to the ages. Completely handcrafted."

"Beautiful." And indeed it was. 'Handcrafted' had a different meaning in the Wizarding world than in its Muggle counterpart; in this case, the word indicated that the intricate chess pieces had been _hand _carved, using no magic whatsoever until the set was enchanted in the last step of creating a Wizarding chess set. The tiny figures looked almost alive; Julia was certain that they also moved with grace and realism as they floated across the board. The white pieces were made of light-colored wood—was that holly?—and the red looked like rosewood. The tiny knights and castles looked light they had stepped out of a painting, while the King and Queen were positively medieval. Even the pawns were perfectly detailed; the entire set must have taken decades to make.

Julia stared at the board for a long while, allowing herself to luxuriate in the illusion that she was only there to admire it. The world was perfect. Nothing was wrong. Her dreams had come true, and life was just like it might have been. With Sirius.

Sirius. The thought of him made reality intervene again, and Julia straightened. "Unfortunately," she admitted, "I'm not here to look at chess sets."

"I didn't think you were," Bishop's smile had faded, making him look like a stoic—if a bit plain—old wizard again.

Julia shoved her hands into her pockets and turned to fully face him, wishing that the shop was empty but having no choice in her surroundings. "I'm looking for a friend. I have reason to believe he has been here."

"And why are you looking for this friend?" Bishop asked, arching one silver brow. "From the tone of your voice, it seems he does not want to be found."

"It's an emergency," she replied stiffly. The return smile was gentle.

"I might not know him, you realize."

"I think you will. Or at least you'll recognize him," she countered.

His shrug spoke more than words could ever mean. Silently, the old wizard watched her, waiting and…what? "I have old eyes," Bishop replied as those same eyes twinkled—or had they flashed? It was hard to tell. "I miss much."

"Not that much," Julia retorted. She knew he was lying. How, she had no clue, but she knew he was lying.

Bishop chuckled. "Tell me, who is your friend?"

"Sirius Black."

Heads turned, then snapped back to mind their own business when Julia glared in return. His name, of course, caught everyone's attention—Sirius was the hero of the mob, adored for the next hour until the crowd came up with someone better. Anger colored some of the patrons' faces, but Julia could no longer blame them for that. They needed Sirius.

"Sirius Black," Bishop repeated thoughtfully, scratching lightly at his chin. "I remember him as well. Always here with his father and bored out of his mind."

Julia resisted the urge to bristle. "Have you seen him? Do you know where he might have gone?"

"Alas, no." He chuckled. "Though I am certain it would have been an…interesting experience."

"Oh." Julia sighed. She'd found this lead by accident, so it couldn't have been a trail someone had set out for her to follow. No, this was _real, _which meant that Sirius was intentionally leading her astray—or that Bishop was lying.

She didn't like that thought and concentrated on the former. Sirius really didn't want to be found…no matter how much they needed him. No matter how much it hurt.

"Thank you," she said hollowly, and walked out.

--------------

"Hermione, that was bloody brilliant!" Ron exclaimed as the trio jolted their way up the line, noticing as some bawling third year begged Hagrid to go back to the castle because she'd forgotten her signed and framed photo of Gilderoy Lockhart. Hagrid looked completely lost when dealing with a blubbering girl, and Harry snickered despite himself.

"That _was _well done," he added, grinning. "It's about time someone gave Malfoy back a bit of his own."

Hermione blushed. "I couldn't help it. I was so sick of—"

"Oi! Hermione! Harry! Ron!" George burst through the crowd, rushing at them with a huge grin on his face. Ron's older brother skidded to a stop in front of the trio and grabbed Hermione's hand, pumping it enthusiastically. "You," George grinned, "are bloody wonderful. Don't ever let these two jokers tell you otherwise—anyone who puts _that _kind of mark on Delicate Little Draco's face is my kind of girl!" His voice lowered into a conspiratorial whisper. "You can prank with me any time."

She went even redder. "Honestly, George, it was just—"

"Brilliant," Ron repeated. "Absolutely brilliant."

"Not to mention that—" Harry started.

"Look out!" a female voice shouted.

Fred came flying out of nowhere and tackled Harry to the ground, flattening the smaller boy. _"Oomph!"_

Green light flashed. Children screamed. He could hear Hagrid shouting over the commotion, but Harry could hardly see anything around Fred's mass—was Fred all right? Distantly, he became aware of the fact that Ron, Hermione, and George had thrown themselves to the ground around him and had their wands out. Where was Ginny?

A strange voice started. _"Avada—"_

A rainbow of light split the air and more students screamed. Harry struggled to see around Fred, needing to know what was happening and why Fred had tackled him. "Geoff me!"

"Oh. Sorry." An elbow landed in his mouth, making Harry grunt, but Fred rolled aside. Fred was okay.

"Hagrid, no!" A girl's shrill voice. Ginny's voice.

Harry got his head up enough to see Ginny's red head not far away, sticking up out of the sea of bodies on the ground. Not far away, a tall figure in Death Eater's robes reeled backwards, regained his balance, and pointed his wand straight at Harry. Hagrid started to run.

_"Avada Kedavra!" _the Death Eater shouted. Hagrid leapt.

Children shrieked.

Green light flashed, and Hagrid crumbled to the ground without a sound. Hermione screamed, but Harry's eyes were on the masked Death Eater. He was laughing. Laughing. He stepped over Hagrid with a contemptuous glance downwards at the half-giant's still form, and Harry saw eyes crinkle up in distaste behind the mask. But the Death Eater looked up, and again his wand lifted, aiming for Harry.

_I should move,_ he thought stupidly, but could only lie flat on his back, staring blankly. He was numb, and George was scrambling to his feet—

_"Expelliarmus!"_Snape thundered, appearing between two students as if out of nowhere.

_"St—"_

The Death Eater never had the chance to finish the spell; his wand sailed out of his hand and he went flying backwards until he crashed into the platform amid crashing wood and flying splinters. He slumped and lay still as the students' screams died down, looking much like an abandoned pile of robes. Snape caught the wand easily and swung to face the children.

"Everyone on the train!" he ordered. "Now!"

A herd of Erumpent could not have stampeded faster, and Harry turned to move with the crowd until an iron hand snaked out to grasp his shoulder. "Except for you, Potter."

Harry jerked to a halt, scowling. The other Misfits immediately stopped, too, but Snape's silent glare found each in turn and pushed them along. Harry tried to nod reassuringly for his friends' benefit, but his mouth was suddenly dry. For the first time, the facts were sinking in. This wasn't a random attack; the Death Eater had been trying to kill _him_.

And Hagrid was dead. Hagrid had saved his life and Hagrid was dead.

Tears welled up in his eyes, and Harry forced them back. No matter which side Snape was on, he would not let the loathsome Potions Master see him cry. Snape would laugh, he was sure, and sneer at Harry's weakness. But Hagrid was dead, and it was hard to push emotion back. Harry could remember every time the Misfits had visited the half-giant—his kindness, his bumbling attempts to help everyone. Hagrid had caught the pranksters more often than any Filch or any of the professors, but he almost always let them off with a warning because it was only "harmless fun."

The crowd was dissipating quickly; no one even paused to hover over Hagrid's still body. They were too frightened, too shocked. Hogwarts was supposed to be safe. Hogsmeade was supposed to be _empty. _The professors had said so.

Snape's hand was still on his shoulder, and the Potions Master shook Harry like a ragdoll to get his attention. Harry winced, but Snape spoke in a low and rapid voice.

"Listen to me Potter, for there isn't much time. The Dark Lord believes you may be his fated enemy, and he plans to eliminate you before you come of age. Trust _no one_, even your closest friends." His dark eyes swept over the now-empty station. "Leave Platform 9 ¾ with your parents or you will not live to do so."

Harry gaped, trying to assimilate the information all at once. "But—"

"Now _go_, boy! You haven't time to spare." Snape shoved him towards the train, and Harry's legs seemed to obey on their own. His mind was reeling, though, and his eyes fastened on Hagrid's still body again. The Gamekeeper lay peacefully, as if asleep—but Harry could not fool himself. He could not even try. Growing up as the son of an Auror had acquainted him with death, and no matter how peaceful Hagrid looked, he would never wake again.

His gaze found the unconscious Death Eater next, and Harry numbly wondered what Snape would do with him. But there was no time to ask—strong hands propelled him through the entrance to the Hogwarts Express and the doors closed behind him. The train rumbled forward immediately.

Harry felt cold. _"Trust no one," _Snape had said. _"Not even your friends." _What did he mean?

---------------

The Other Author's Note: I apologize for the delay: being sick and Real Life intervened with fast posting, even when the chapter was complete. Thanks for sticking with me, though, and stay tuned for Chapter Four: The Final Circle (And yes, this actually is that chapter). Please let me know what you think, and do review!


	5. Chapter 4: The Final Circle

Promises Defended

* * *

_Chapter Four: The Final Circle_

* * *

They came by ones and twos to stand on the castle's front steps, gathered quietly and simply staring at one another. Sunset, 22 December 1992. The date was somehow appropriate: the twenty-second, and this was a day that might make or break the war effort that had been ongoing for twenty-two years. The day of the Final Circle.

Some faces were expected; one was not. Odd, because Remus had anticipated more of a reformation than this; he had simply given Fawkes the letters and had left the decision in the phoenix's hands…and he had not expected to see all of his friends here again. In a way, however, he did not see them all. One was missing, and Remus swallowed hard. Tears might have risen if he'd possessed the strength to cry.

Nymphadora Tonks looked bewildered. James and Lily, as always, stood side by side. Peter wasn't far to their right, down two steps and level with Snape. Bill Weasley watched his student with a tolerant smile, his eyes often on Remus as if expecting him to explain. But Remus had no answers. They had been standing in strained silence for almost twenty minutes, and by now all understood. There was no other explanation, now. The outcome three men had feared most had come to pass. Shuddering, Remus took a deep breath. They could ill afford to wait any longer, and it was time.

"Severus, if you would—"

_A figure in a dark room, wandless and seated on the hardwood floor.__ The only light came from the faint glow of the orb that hovered over the pages of a careworn leather journal._

_He was not looking at the journal. _

_His hands moved silently, quickly, and darkness filled the room. Remus sensed old pain—and coldness. Bitter and determined coldness._

_And then there was nothing, except for icy blue eyes so sharp that he felt that they would peer into his soul. A soft whisper, almost inaudible. A hard whisper that Remus could not understand. A hand moving—_

"—take the others inside. We will join you in a moment."

The vision ended in a _snap_, over in the blink of an eye. His voice cracked only slightly.

His deputy nodded silently, and gestured for the others to precede him into the castle. Frowning, Bill led the way, with Tonks close behind and Lily trailing further back. She and Snape both cast glances over their shoulders, Lily looking worried and Snape unreadable, but they entered the castle's shadow together. Silence chilled the three friends as Snape and Lily paused in the doorway—none of the three seemed to notice. Everything still hurt too much.

"He not here," James whispered.

Remus swallowed and forced himself to nod. "I didn't think he would be."

"It shouldn't be like this," Peter objected, making Remus close his eyes. Even had his visions not frightened him, he would fear for his friend. _Sirius, what have you done?_

"No," he whispered in response. "It shouldn't."

They stood in silence again, and Remus fought back the growing sense of dread that gnawed at his innards. Could the Circle form with seven? Could they stand united, yet incomplete? It had happened before when they thought Sirius dead; Dumbledore had held two seats, then…and Fawkes had been waiting. Remus understood that now. But Sirius had been alive, and the Fifth Circle reformed for him later. How was that to work when this _must _be the last?

"The Final Circle," Remus whispered half under his breath. "And yet broken."

"Remus?" James questioned softly.

There was no cloud over his eyes, no confusion. This was no vision—but was the Font speaking through him or was Remus only heartbroken? "We've come to the end," he replied, not really wanting to say the words. "Come darkness or light, this is the Final Circle."

"How do you know?" Once, Peter's voice would have shaken. Now he only sounded sad.

"I know."

James sighed and looked down at his hands, folded neatly in his lap. Severus and Poppy had yet to find a way to heal the wheelchair-bound Marauder, but the one bright point of the last seventy-three days was the progress they had made. James regularly had feeling in his legs these days, and Poppy had already designed strengthening exercises to help him. He'd not walk for a long time yet, but finally, there was hope.

Hope and no hope. What a painful combination.

"I never thought it would come to this," James said softly. "Not Sirius."

"I had…" Remus trailed off. Seen it? Not seen it? Prayed?

"What if he becomes the monster Snape claims he has?" Peter was the only one with the courage to say the words Remus and James both feared.

James swallowed. "I don't know."

Remus shivered. Was it his imagination, or did he see a man hunched over a worktable, quill in hand and red burning in blue eyes? Dark hair, blue eyes, a little too thin and much too pale. Pain etched into a once-handsome face. Scarred knuckles. Loneliness.

"Then we do what we must," he heard himself say. But those were not _his _words. Those were words taught to him by Albus Dumbledore: wise words, to be sure; fair words, but not Remus Lupin. Never Moony. Moony fought for his friends. Suddenly cold, he rubbed his hands up and down his arms, trying to chase his goosebumps away. "We fight to bring him back."

"What if we can't?" Surprisingly, it was James. He sounded frightened.

"Does that mean we shouldn't try?" Peter countered.

"No. It's just—" James took a deep breath. "I feel this is my fault. And I don't want to lose him again."

Hesitantly, Remus reached out and squeezed his friend's shoulder. "We won't," he promised. Visions or reality? Differentiating between the two was becoming impossible.

_Dementors in the night._

_Hogwarts—_

"Hogwarts…" The ragged whisper escaped on its own.

"Remus?" His friends looked at him in alarm. Remus forced himself to shake his head.

"Nothing." He sucked in a deep breath. "Let's go inside."

_Footsteps on cold concrete._

_He was coming._

* * *

The doors stood open; the others stood waiting. Clearly, they didn't dare enter without the man who had brought them there, mindful of the importance of the occasion. For the same reason, the first four stood silently, uncomfortably—waiting. Even as Remus, James, and Peter approached, Tonks fidgeted and peeked curiously through the double doors, peering at the oak table and chairs within.

The Room of Requirement. Never had it been so required, and now the doors bore the seal of the Order of the Phoenix. The carving was exquisite; it did not look like magic, but Remus knew that it had to be. _Hogwarts is at work here_. _Somehow, the Font knows._ Then again, this place was special, and Hogwarts had always been at the heart of the Order. It had also been Dumbledore's soul.

"Please," Remus said quietly, gesturing towards the open doors.

Still silent, the seven filed in, with Remus last in line. The room was exactly as he remembered it, but he saw the others looking around in wonder, even Snape. The scene was almost identical to the destroyed Country House, down to the same books and bookshelves lining the walls. Even the same circular window was in the same place on the far wall, but the old field was not visible. Only darkness. No light.

The doors clicked shut behind him. _So this is it, then_. Remus felt cold. _There is no going back. _Deep breath.

"Thank you for coming," he said slowly. "We gather to form the Final Circle, the seventh and the last of the Order's Inner Circles. You have each been chosen by the phoenix—no human summonses have brought you here. Fawkes selected you for your ability, integrity, and courage, and I have no doubt that you will serve the Order well.

"Before us stand eight seats. Upon their backs you see eight words: Wisdom, Knowledge, Time, Discovery, Truth, Temptation, Secrecy, and Power." Remus did not look down as he spoke; instead, he focused on the others and watched the knowledge sink in, the responsibility settle onto their shoulders. Six solemn faces stared back at him, understanding.

"There are eight seats. Eight positions. Eight facets to obligation. We are seven." Pain welled up inside him again, but Remus continued:

"This has happened before. The Circle has formed incomplete. I know not what it means that it should happen this last time, but we shall push forward. The Sixth Circle failed by Voldemort's intervention. The Sixth Circle broke upon the death of Mundungus Fletcher. We can do neither—should _we _break or fail, so shall the Order of the Phoenix. We are the last. As such, I know this:

"Wisdom is the guide, the voice of reason.

"Time is the world changer, the decision maker.

"Discovery is the searcher, the creator.

"Knowledge is the right hand, the heir apparent.

"Temptation is the breaking point, the weakened link.

"Truth is the horror facer, the impartial observer.

"Secrecy is the hidden ability, the unassuming ally.

"Power is the world breaker, the choice maker."

Stillness greeted his words, but Remus sensed magic at work; old and deep magic, but separate from the Font. He also felt eyes upon his back—Remus spun. The double doors had opened again of their own accord.

That was Sirius standing in the doorway.

Clean shaven and with shorter hair, it was Sirius. The cut was reminiscent of their Hogwarts days, though the boyish charm had faded from his face. His features were lined now—only slightly, though deeply—and the blue eyes were different. Darker and more knowledgeable were the first words to come to mind, but they described more than just the eyes.

He was simply clad, in ash gray robes and black boots. He stood simply, too, with his hands at his sides and motionless, but Remus sensed something contained within him. Darkness? _Yes._ Power, too, and something more. Something different, yet undeniably Sirius. _Sirius._Remus' heart knocked frantically against his ribcage. He felt short of breath, felt sick. Or was that hope? He could not find words.

Nor could any of the others. They simply stood and stared; even Snape had no acid remark to make. Surprisingly, it was Sirius who finally broke the silence.

"I apologize for being late." His voice was unnaturally soft. "I was detained."

"Detained?" Snape found his voice and snorted. "Is _that _what you call it?"

"Enough, Severus," Remus replied before anyone else could, feeling sick. "He is here for the same reason you are: because Fawkes requires him to be."

The deputy headmaster started to roll his eyes, but Sirius half-turned to look directly at him with dead blue eyes. "We all make our choices. Some are simply more dangerous than others."

Again, the out of place whisper, and that silenced Snape as a shout never would. Slowly, Sirius moved forward to take his place around the perimeter of the room, clasping his hands behind his back and looking unconcerned. His movements were casual enough to make it seem as if he wandered back into the world after having been gone every day—yet there was a tenseness in him, for all that comfort. Remus had to force himself to take a deep breath before he could continue as if nothing had happened; he could not shake that sick and terrified feeling. Acting normally was almost impossible when he could not stop wondering if his friend would leave again. Had he stepped forward, or would he fade? Hide?

Remus swallowed hard, and was surprised how even his voice sounded. It should not have.

"Three of you have never assumed seats in the Circle, but you will today. As Fawkes chooses you, please step to your seat." Shorter than any explanation Dumbledore had ever offered, but Remus was not Dumbledore. They understood.

"Fawkes?" he asked softly, hardly daring to hope that the phoenix was ready. For so long, Remus had struggled to convince his companion that the Inner Circle was needed, and…

His worries were unfounded. As soon as the word left Remus' mouth, Fawkes sailed off his perch and landed gracefully on the high back of the Power seat. The red and gold head turned, and bright eyes focused unerringly on Sirius.

There it began. Sirius to Power, James to Time, Lily to Discovery, Snape to Knowledge, Bill to Secrecy, Peter to Temptation, Tonks to Truth, and last of all, Remus to Wisdom. He nodded, and all eight sat together, chairs scraping gently against the floor. All eyes were on him, of course, hoping that he knew what came next. And he didn't, really, even if he did. Remus waited a long moment before speaking; there were so many questions on the tip of his tongue, and he could permit himself to speak none of them. Finally, he took a deep breath.

"And so it begins," the Order's head said softly. "This day marks the beginning of the end."

* * *

He made it outside before the others caught up with him, having stood as soon as Remus thanked the members for coming. Sirius strode out the door before anyone could stop him, and did not look back. Their cries he ignored—Sirius felt boxed in, felt cornered, and he had to bolt or lash out. Choosing the former seemed to be the wiser course.

"Sirius!" James shouted.

But it was Peter who ran around him and stepped into his path, stopping Sirius cold. "Please don't go," the smaller man begged. "We need you."

Staring at him made Sirius shiver, made his world attempt to twist and turn. It took first one deep breath, and then another, to steady him. Still, he did not trust himself to speak.

"We need you," Peter repeated. Pain twisted his features. "We all do."

"Need me?" He'd not spoken above a whisper in weeks, and his voice felt dry and unused, even to his own ears. Moreover, it sounded _cold_—colder even than Sirius had expected it to be.

"Don't you know what's been happening?" Peter whispered plaintively.

Empty. "I know."

"Do you, Sirius?" It was Remus, stepping around in front of him as well. Sirius felt cornered, and could hear James rolling up from behind.

"Hogsmeade. Laçenne. The Ministry. Hoppner. Binns. Ackerly. Hopkirk. Marie d'Orville. A hundred others."

"Don't you _care_?" James demanded, finally side by side with the others.

The words were meant to shock him, Sirius knew, meant to break through the icy barrier he had thrown up between himself and his friends. Even James, however, could not reach him, and Sirius only felt the gap between them widen. But that was all he felt. He could not even summon up the humanity to wince at the fury and pain in his best friend's voice.

_I knew I should not have come._

"I care," he said flatly. "I know. I realize what I have done, that the fates of those in Azkaban can be blamed on me. The deaths weigh upon _my _soul." Something hot reared up within him. "But if I had to do it all over again, I would make the same choice."

_"What?"_ Three voices as one, just as four friends had once been.

"Never mind." Sirius shook his head, sighing softly to himself. Coming had been a foolish idea, even if it had been for the Circle's sake. What did the Order need someone like him for, anyway? Should they realize the truth, the lot of them would probably shake in terror and run away.

Except these three. These three would just hate him.

"What happened to you, Sirius?" James asked, wide eyed, even as Peter whispered:

"Where have you _been_?"

"A small Muggle flat in Bristol," he replied with a shrug. There was no harm in telling them that; he'd not be going back.

"Doing what?" Always sharp, Remus was watching him closely.

"Changing."

The headmaster's blue eyes narrowed. "That much is obvious."

_He suspects._

"I do not expect you to understand."

"Maybe you should," Peter countered.

"No."

_This was a mistake._ He shouldered between Remus and Peter, intentionally giving James the widest berth. Shock and betrayal colored three faces—especially the one with hazel eyes—but Sirius did not look back. For many reasons, he could not afford to.

One step. Two steps. Each stride carried him further from Hogwarts, apart from his frozen friends. They weren't following, Sirius noticed with relief; perhaps they had learned something. Perhaps they knew how futile chasing him would be. He had disappeared once and could do so again if necessary, even if he did not want to. For his own sake, doing so was an extremely attractive option, but for others… _'All Hope Fades To Black.'_ His feet were firmly set upon the hero's road again, even if a hero was the last thing he wanted to be.

Now less than ever. He too well knew the cost, had experienced it firsthand and was tainted by it forevermore. As a boy he had dreamed foolish dreams of saving the world. Now he understood the consequences of being that which others would not be.

"Is this it, then?" James' bitter voice shattered the silence. "After so long together—after supporting each other, and _suffering_, and standing _side_ by _side_, you just walk away? Is this the end, _brother_?"

_He held a hand out to Remus, who took it. "Friends."_

_"Brothers."__ James laid his hand on top of theirs'. _

_Peter's hand joined the other three. "Faithful until the end."_

_"Until the end," they chorused._

Sirius stopped without meaning to. His feet simply refused to move. A long and slow breath did not calm his nerves, and James did not give him time to reply.

"What happened to the promises we made?" he demanded angrily. "Do they mean _nothing _to you?"

"No." His voice came out in a dead whisper. "They don't."

James snorted. "They don't mean anything. Not with the monster you have allowed yourself to become."

_"Did you hear me?" he demanded, shaking James. "I made _my choice_." His voice lowered once more. "And I'd do it again, if I had to."_

Sirius spun, and felt the red flare in his eyes, but it was too late to change—too late to care. "Monster?" he demanded. "_Monster?_"

"We see the darkness blazing within you! Would you call yourself something different?"

"I would!" It took a great effort to unclench his fists, to stand with his feet shoulder width apart and hands free. "I have done what no one else could. What no one else _dared _to do!"

"Perhaps because they know better!" James shouted furiously. "Because they know the darkness would swallow them!"

"And that is why you didn't come to us," Remus' icy voice interjected. "Because you knew we would stop you."

"I walked away because it is _my _choice. _My _burden," Sirius snarled.

"And we are your _friends_!" Peter retorted, looking heartbroken.

Somehow, that snapped it. Five simple words released his fury, breaking those emotions out of the cage Sirius had so carefully constructed. By instinct, his hands came up, and the right started to slash forward as the left snapped back. Power built up within him immediately, sweet and sure power—strength he knew well, too well, and was his for the taking. No wand was necessary, no words; only power and the will to use it. A slight red tint came over his vision, highlighting the other three against the night sky.

Friends.

Sirius' hands moved too quickly for the unpracticed eye to follow, cutting the spell short just before it could get out. Power reverberated within him, protesting, aching for release, screaming for an outlet. But icy truth had doused his fury. _Friends._ Sirius turned away convulsively, shuddering. He brought his hands up to cover his face as the power dissipated, and found that those hands were shaking slightly.

"What have you done?" he whispered to himself under his breath—and not for the first time.

Calloused palms scrubbed over his face but did not help. At least the fury was gone, and the power with it…but that would not last. It never did.

"Sirius?" A quiet voice behind him. Remus.

He shook his head. "Leave it be."

"No." James again.

With an effort, Sirius tore his hands away from his face, forcing his hunched shoulders to straighten. _I cannot show weakness. Even here. _He felt so cold. So empty. _Especially here._ His body still wanted to shake, but he would not let it. Was that caused by relief? Anger? Exhaustion? Sirius did not know. He did not care. Sucking in a deep breath, he turned slowly to face his friends. _Friends?_

"I cannot ask you to understand," he said slowly, feeling his throat tighten inexplicably. "Just—"

"Maybe you should," Peter interrupted Sirius quietly. "We are here for you, you know."

With an effort, he met each of their eyes in turn. "Not with this. Not now."

James shook his head. "Whatever you are doing, Sirius, you don't have to do it alone."

"I do, you know. This is my battle."

"We're—"James started.

"Four men. Walking." Remus shook his head, suddenly distant. "Not alone. Not now."

Despite himself, Sirius blinked. And something cracked.

He felt himself shiver again, and suddenly needed to stare at the ground because he did not want to look at his friends. _They will not understand, _the dark recesses of his soul reminded him. _They cannot. Not men such as these._ Was that contempt his own? It made Sirius feel sick to his stomach, and he shivered once again, even though the evening was warm. Unseasonably warm, almost; weather witches were probably calling that a good omen.

"Tell us what you're doing," James whispered.

Sirius shook his head.

"Please," Peter added. The three were drifting forward now, and Sirius did not retreat. Every instinct within him screamed to _run, run, run!_ …but he would not. Could not. Friends.

"I…" His head came up almost of its own volition, his eyes wandering away from those he could hardly bear to see.

The others were walking down the stairs: Snape and Lily, Bill and Tonks. Obviously, they'd delayed as long as they dared, but the four curious onlookers were staring at their fellows with expectant eyes. Snape's face was crinkled up derisively, of course, but there seemed to be doubt behind even his expression; clearly, he hadn't expected Sirius to stay. _Neither had I_, Sirius thought ruefully, almost surprising himself with the sheer normalcy of the thought. He swallowed.

"Not here," Sirius whispered. "Not now."

"Then when?" James pressed.

"Later." The answer was automatic.

So was James' frown. "You've said that before."

_And it was true then, too, damnit!_ He resisted the urge to snap back with a monstrous effort, swallowing back the irrational anger that suddenly wanted to rise. He was cold again, back to feeling empty. _They will not understand. They cannot._

"Name your place," he said unsteadily, knowing that, too, was another mistake.

"My flat," Peter supplied immediately. "Tonight."

Sirius shook his head immediately. "Not tonight." _Too soon!_

"Tomorrow, then," Remus interjected in a tone that booked no argument. Sirius could sense Remus' cool blue eyes on his face. "Will you come?"

"I will come." The answer emerged despite his desires, despite his fears.

"Do you promise?" James whispered painfully.

_I am sorry._

"Yes. I promise."

* * *

The Other Author's Note: Once again, I find myself apologizing for the delay, but real life has intervened (as usual). However, I'm currently putting the finishing touches on Chapter Five: Between Broken and Believing, so look for that soon. Thanks again for reading, and please take the ten seconds to review and let me know what you think. (Or just flame me. I like fire). 


	6. Chapter 5: Between Broken and Believing

**Promises Defended**

* * *

_Chapter Five: Between Broken and Believing

* * *

_

Breathe in.

Hold it.

Breathe out.

_Will you turn away when I need you most?_

The words hung significantly in the empty air. He did not know the answer, did not know what would come. He only knew that it would kill him if they did turn away.

Yet still he stood. Stood and waited, held his breath. _Will you understand?_

He could sense the wall he'd built between them, knew he could only tear it down once. It had taken too much heart that he no longer possessed to do so, and staring at them made him wonder if he ever would again. There would be one chance—no more.

_I made my choice. What will yours be?_

Sirius knocked on the door, praying he was wrong, praying that something—everything—would go differently than he expected. Anything.

His knuckles rapped hollowly against the **_#114_ **posted conspicuously on the maroon colored door. All the doors on the highest floor of the building were maroon with gold trim, which Sirius had once found vaguely amusing, and still would have if he could scrape up the ability to feel. And yet…he did know that he was acutely out of place here. No one was staring at him, but the two people he'd joined in the lift had been too conspicuous about _not _looking his way, and Sirius was sure that they'd gotten off long before their intended stops. Climbing stairs, it seemed, was preferable to sharing a lift with the notorious _coward _Sirius Black. Only twenty-four hours back into life in the Wizarding World, Sirius had already heard the rumors, the bitterness. No one dared speak the words to his face, but he had ears.

In truth, he had known what would happen even before he'd walked away, but Sirius preferred the consequences to the alternative. And he hadn't meant to come back.

Nor did he really want to be here, but there he was, sucking in another deep breath and steeling himself for failure. Peter had lived on the top floor of London's oldest Wizarding residences, The Exploding Tuba, for the last seven years, and Sirius had visited him countless times since his escape from Azkaban the previous January—had it really only been eleven months?—but this time was different. This time could cost far more than the others.

The maroon door swung open to reveal a very startled Peter Pettigrew. "Sir-ius," he stuttered uncharacteristically. He swallowed. "I—we—didn't expect you to come."

"I know."

Peter blinked and stepped back, still staring at Sirius in a way those wizards in the lift would never have dared to. Despite the pain in his friend's eyes, Sirius found the glare was almost comforting. Almost normal. Peter's voice was still shaking. "Come in."

Stepping through the open door, Sirius turned to face his friend full on, reading deeper into the smaller man's eyes than he'd intended to. Or wanted to. Pain he had not thought himself capable of feeling welled up inside him. _Not this. Not you._ The words emerged without Sirius' consent.

"Do you fear me, Peter?"

He had not wanted his voice to sound so cold, but he could not stop it. Green eyes met his levelly, and there was courage in the reply.

"Yes."

Sirius nodded calmly, and felt almost like an outsider watching his own actions. The pain was real, but distant—and he had expected the reply. Had known it would come. _And thus it ends. After so long, it ends._

Remus had risen from his seat at the kitchen table, and James' back was ramrod straight. Both were watching him with hawk-like eyes, silent and unsure of how to receive him—but both were dead calm. They, too, seemed to be mourning for a friendship lost, grieving for what had once been and would never be again. Even Joe, Peter's rambunctious Siberian Husky puppy, was quiet. His blue eyes, too, were focused on Sirius, sad and lost.

"Will you…sit down?" Peter asked hesitantly. There was no fear in his voice now, just worry that a friend might run away. Sirius could see it in his face—Peter, who was always so readable when with his friends, yet the best and most impassive negotiator that the Ministry of Magic had. He was afraid, yes, but not just of Sirius' power, or the tattered control he had almost lost the day before. He was afraid of losing his friend again.

Friends. The only thing that had stopped Sirius when he would have run away. _Friends._

He nodded silently, wanting to swallow in pain and refusing to allow himself. _Will you turn away when I need you most?_ He no longer wanted to know. Sirius had a feeling that he'd not be able to bear the answer, even if—less than a day before—he had been convinced that he'd never feel anything again. But that was for another time, another place. Not this.

Sirius quietly lowered himself into an armchair, watching the others out of the corners of his eyes and waiting. Yet three faces stared back as if to ask: _Now what?_ and he had no answers to give.

"I'm surprised you came," Remus finally said.

"I promised I would."

"You promised a lot of things, once," the headmaster replied matter-of-factly. There was no blame in his voice, though there should have been—had that been burned from him, or was Remus' self-control so iron hard these days? "I know I'm not alone in wondering which ones you still stand by."

"Such as?" It was hard not to swallow, but he refused to show weakness.

"Brotherhood." James' voice was ragged. "Friendship. No secrets, no walls. No breeches of trust. Do the words sound familiar?"

They sounded like they came from another lifetime, but Sirius nodded anyway.

"Then how could you forget them?" James whispered brokenly. "How could you forget that we are alwayshere and _run away_?"

"I—" Sirius swallowed hard. How could he explain that this was a road upon which they could not walk? They would never understand that they could not follow him. "What I am doing—what I have become—the risks and consequences are for me alone."

"What you have become," Remus repeated flatly. His eyes were dark, but Peter's were sad.

"You've become like him," the smallest Marauder whispered.

It struck to the heart. Stabbing Sirius would have been more kind, and somehow—this time—he was not surprised to feel. Slowly, regretfully, he shook his head.

"I should not have come," he breathed. Honesty. "But because…because I am not yet what he is…I had to."

"Not yet?" James demanded. "Will you become the monster _he_ is, and destroy _everything _we have fought so long for by doing so?"

He could not meet his friends' eyes. "I will go as far as necessary."

"As necessary? None of this is necessary!" James spat. "You're destroying yourself, and for what? To gain power? To become the _next _Dark Lord?"

"And if I was?" Sirius' head snapped around to face James as fury blossomed out of his control. "You could not stop me then, and _you_ _cannot stop me now!_ I have not asked for your permission or your _understanding_—and I walked away because I knew this was what you would say!" He was on his feet, and so were they. "You ask why I 'ran'—well, here is your reason! I left to do what had to be done!"

"Had to be? _Had _to be? Have you lost your mind?" James shouted back.

He was suddenly cold, fighting back the urge to shiver. "No. I've just lost everything else."

"Not everything," Remus whispered, his uncanny blue eyes—so like Dumbledore's!—on Sirius. "Not yet."

"No?" The harsh demand came out before he could stop himself.

"No."

"Not while we're here," Peter swallowed.

"You aren't." His voice went flat as cold certainty blended with anger. "You cannot be."

"And why is that?" James retorted. "Because you don't want us? Are we not good enough for you, now, _Padfoot?_ After all this time, do we not matter?"

"No!" Red flared in his eyes; Sirius felt it, and then sensed the same darkness drown underneath something far more powerful as he shouted: "Because I will not drag you down with me!"

Silence.

The others stared at Sirius, but he could not bear to meet their eyes. Startled by his own outburst, he focused on the far wall, willing it to stay in focus, to stay the same. His head wanted to spin, and his heart wanted to bleed. _I now know my answer. _Sighing, he rose from the comfortable armchair. One moment's hesitation was all he allowed himself before heading for the door.

"I knew I should not have come," Sirius repeated, his voice barely above a whisper.

Three long steps, and his hand was on the doorknob. His limbs felt heavy, and a lump had risen in his throat that no amount of swallowing could dissolve, but there was only one road open now. The die had been cast, and the wall remained between them. He had not the strength to tear it down. Not after this.

"Don't!" Three voices, three again where there should have been four. But even Sirius' conscience had stopped objecting months ago; like the rest of his soul, it had been buried. Given up.

"Why not?" he asked, still facing the door.

"Not like this," Peter pleaded.

"How else, then?" Sirius countered emptily. "Goodbyes are always difficult."

"You don't have to go."

Exasperation made him close his eyes. "You don't understand."

"Then make us understand." Peter's voice was harder than Sirius ever remembered it being, stronger and more insistent. It was odd how Remus, always the logical one, was now the quietest. How had the world been permitted to change them so much?

"I can't." Sirius slumped against the doorframe without meaning to. "You—you can't."

"We can try. If you don't lock us out." James' tone was still angry, but there was more pain than hardness in his voice now. Still, the accusation made Sirius turn to face them once more.

He sucked in a ragged breath. "With what I have become…there is no turning back."

"There is, you know." Remus spoke quietly, striding forward until he was only an arm's length away from Sirius. "But not if you do it alone."

"There is no other way." _Because you'll hate me for this, and it is _my _choices that will break our friendship._Remus' bottomless blue eyes looked sad. _But I will not allow those choices to break the three of you. Not even when I want to hate everyone._

"There is."

Remus' hand reached out to rest on Sirius' shoulder; on instinct, the Auror flinched away, but with his back against the door there was nowhere to go…and Remus' touch was light. There was no darkness within this man, werewolf or not—he was strong and steady, a rock that waves could only break upon. The touch and the eyes brought back memories that Sirius had thought lost forever, memories of times when the walls were not there and did not have to be. Slowly, long fingers squeezed his shoulder.

"All three of us," Moony said softly, "have spent the last two months feeling angry and betrayed. Perhaps we should not have taken these feelings out on you…but perhaps you should not have forgotten us so easily."

"I have not forgotten."

The smile was gentle. "No. You just wanted to protect us."

Sirius looked away.

"You cannot…and you should not. No matter what road you take, no matter what you become, the darkness can only reach out if you face it alone. We will not let you do that, Sirius," he whispered. "_We will not lose you again_."

Despite himself, Sirius brought his head up and looked Remus in the eye. Had he a choice, he would not have done so…but he could not bear to walk away. Something burned inside him, and for once it was not darkness.

"We can help you," Peter added quietly.

Sirius swallowed hard and felt his eyes slide shut. _You won't—_

"We can't understand," James whispered, "unless you let us in. Unless you _let _us help you. But please, Sirius… We lost you for ten years. Is that not long enough?"

"You do not have to do this alone. No matter what the price, we will stand by you," Remus said softly.

Breathing, Sirius found, was almost impossible. He could only stare and marvel at the growing pain in his chest, wonder how he'd managed to construct such an insurmountable wall—only to see it torn down by his friends, through a few simple words. He had run because he _had _to, because he could not bear to let them see him fall. And yet…perhaps he did not have to fall. Perhaps his choice had not been the end.

_Can I ask so much, when I give so little? _He desperately wanted to ask, but did not dare. The small spark of hope was so tempting.

_You are not alone, _James' eyes told him. As usual, James Potter was the one man who could see through every one of his moods. The one man whom Sirius had been most afraid to face.

"And we don't think you're a monster," Peter added. "Even if we don't understand. No matter what, you're still Sirius Black."

_Am I? _

Remus squeezed his shoulder again, and James wheeled closer.

"Tell us what to do, and we'll do it," he said earnestly, his eyes burning into Sirius' own. His face was calm but set, intense. Sirius had seen that look before. Twenty-two years ago, four boys had sworn a vow. _Together._He shivered for the first time, letting emotion override control. _Until the end._ Sirius took a deep breath and began to speak.

* * *

_Dare I risk this?_

Deep breath.

_Risk everything._

* * *

"Are you sure this is worth the cost?" James whispered hesitantly when Sirius paused. 

Sirius shook his head. "No. But I still have to do it."

"Not alone." Remus laid a hand on his arm.

"Never alone," Peter finished.

* * *

And he told them of the twisted road, of the price, of the darkness. Of the journal, even. Of the evil that lived within him and struggled for release. 

Sirius told the truth. He told them everything.

* * *

And he spoke from the heart.

* * *

"What I really need from you, when I delve too deep, when I go too far…is to keep me human."

* * *

They did not walk away.

* * *

He ate dinner with his friends, which Sirius had not intended to do, and slowly felt the barriers fade away. He had not expected the ice to melt—not so quickly, not like this—but here, with them, Sirius could _feel _again. He could smile. He could laugh. He could imagine being human…and he could even believe it was possible. 

Only with them.

Only this moment? There was no way to know. Yet there was only one way to find out, and that was through a path Sirius had feared only a few hours before. Some might have said that it took great courage to embark upon the lonely road he had chosen to take, but Sirius knew differently. The greatest courage lay in pulling himself back from the edge.

Two hours before, he had not thought it possible. Yet now—only now—Sirius was beginning to think that he might not have to do so alone. He felt so normal that it was frightening, felt the darkness drifting away like ashes released into the wind, felt his coldness fading…and his walls crumbling. He'd not thought it possible. Not dared to hope. But three friends had forced the truth from him, forced Sirius to tell them of what he had done and what he planned to do. He had meant to go forth alone to face the darkness, mindless of the risk of losing himself. They, however, would not let him.

A gigantic weight seemed to have lifted from his shoulders, and he'd learned to smile again. He had learned to laugh, almost easily and almost naturally. Almost everything.

"So I asked her to marry me. Then and there." Peter grinned. "Right after she called me a shameless and spineless politician and swore she'd let the next group of Death Eaters kill me." He chuckled merrily.

"Of course, she said no."

"And refuse a dashing wizard such as yourself?" James replied through gasps of laughter. "Say it is not so!"

"Alas, she sputtered and told me that I was not her 'type'," Peter replied, still smiling and not the slightest bit put out.

Remus rolled his eyes. "Women."

Sirius felt the grin growing before he could stop himself—or consider his words. "Merlin help the man who finally _does _convince Hestia Jones to marry him. She'll make his life a living hell. Spend every last moment telling him that he's immature."

"Arrogant!" James added.

"Insufficient," Peter snickered.

"Intolerable," Remus finished.

They laughed together, and Sirius _did _feel alive. Amazingly, the feeling did not fade so quickly, did not abandon him just when hope started to blossom. The others saw it, of course, could read his face more easily than any book, but they did not comment. James only reached out to lay a hand on his shoulder and squeeze tightly.

"Welcome back, mate."

"Thanks, Prongs." He spoke hoarsely, but the nickname no longer felt alien.

His oldest friend smiled gently. "You're welcome, Padfoot."

"Always welcome," Moony added quietly, and his blue eyes met Sirius'. Remus knew his demons, Sirius suddenly knew. He saw more than even James, had seen the risks, the consequences, and the reactions. But he did not care. Not any more. Nor did Peter, the little boy who had once feared so much, and now asked for so little.

Sirius had been wrong to doubt them.

* * *

Oddly enough, the final ice breaker was that fifteen month old Siberian Husky named Joe. Somehow, before the evening was over, Sirius had found himself in his Animagus form wrestling with said puppy, only to be tripped up by a small but rather bothersome rat. From then on out it had been interesting; each of the Marauders had imbibed a bit more alcohol than perhaps grown men should have, but they had become more drunk on laughter than anything else. Even Remus, who was a light drinker at the best of times, had contributed (heavily) to reducing Peter's ample supply of beverages, and he'd been laughing as uproariously as the others. 

Perhaps, if they'd been more sober, James, Peter, or Sirius might have noticed that the drinks affected Remus far less than usual; the headmaster had always been a light drinker because he had little tolerance for alcohol, but this was different. He wasn't any tipsier than the others, and laughed just as much. However, the thought did not occur to the Marauders that night. When it came, it would come much later.

"So, d'you remember the time you put purple dye in Lily's orange juice then charmed it to look orange again and she—"

"It wasn't purple," James interrupted Peter self-righteously. "It was chartreuse."

"Chartreuse, purple, green—what's the difference?"

"Well, if you're going to tell a story, you might as well get it—"

"Get it right?" Remus interjected, laughing. "As if you've never _embellished _anything to make a story better!"

"That's different."

"How?" Sirius demanded.

"I'm a father. I'm _supposed _to exaggerate."

"Oh, is _that _how it works?" Sirius asked, howling with laughter. Soon, Joe's howling joined his own. "I can see I'll have to start reproducing soon!"

"You don't need an excuse to be a compulsive liar," Peter retorted.

"Hey! I—_Ooph_"

Sirius landed hard on his back when Remus' hands shot out, shoving him from his chair. Flailing for balance, his hands caught only air, but his feet caught the edge of the table and hit. Hard. Plates, glasses, beer, and candy flew everywhere, pelting the kitchen with ceramic fragments and leftover pizza. Three Marauders yelped. Joe yowled.

_"Roorhohoooo!"_Sirius replied, laughing so hard that he could barely breathe. Flat on his back, he stared at the upturned table and pizza-covered friends.

"This," he announced, "is _so_ not my fault."

"How is it _not?_" Peter demanded, glaring down at him.

"Not mine. Not at all."

"Typical Padfoot," Remus grouched. "Refusing to take responsibility for anything."

"You're one to talk!"

And he felt fourteen years old again, sitting at a table surrounded by his best friends. His brothers. The circumstances were just a bit different, of course, but not different enough. They were there; they were together—and that was all that mattered.

"Innocent or not, you're helping me clean up." Peter rose, trying to scowl and failing miserably. The attempt at seriousness only made Sirius laugh harder.

"Oh, no I'm not! Ask Mister Moony there, who didn't know his own strength."

"I had nothing to do with this," Remus said regally.

"Nor I," James added, snickering.

"Really?" Sirius rolled over, grinning. He bounced to his feet and spun towards the door to Peter's bedroom. "Try making me help!"

"Hey!" Three shouts of protest chased him, but Sirius ignored them.

"C'mon, Joe. Let's find some mischief."

But the husky was already gone; the only evidence of his presence was the last bit of a black and white tail disappearing around the edge of the bedroom door. Sirius bounded after him, transforming immediately into Padfoot and aiming to tackle the puppy—until Remus, sailing through the air, landed on top of him.

_"Roof!"_ Sirius objected, trying to roll away from his friend—but Padfoot simply wasn't a heavy enough dog, as big as he was. Remus wasn't exactly _large_, but all his weight came from muscle. Werewolf-enhanced muscles that were trying their best to wrestle the black dog into submission.

Distantly, he heard James and Peter cheering Remus on, but Sirius concentrated on trying to squirm free, pausing only to bark at the others when they grew too excited. Still, freeing himself from Remus' grasp was hard work, and several minutes had passed before Padfoot could bolt, panting, into Peter's bedroom. Sirius immediately transformed back into himself and slammed the door shut.

"Phew," he said to Joe. "That was close."

Then he turned, and could not believe his eyes.

* * *

A few seconds later, he burst out of the bedroom. Three sets of eyes stared at him in surprised confusion. 

"Peter, why do you have Wicked Witch of the West boxers?"

James goggled. "Look, the witch is even flying around on her broom!"

Remus howled with laughter, sounding strangely like his canine self and almost falling out of his chair. For a moment, Sirius was tempted to help Remus along his way, but poor Wormtail had turned bright red and was so much more fun. Stuttering slightly, Peter replied:

"Well, uhhh...They're, y'know. Old. Found them. My Mum bought them for me years ago..."

_Oh, no she didn't!_ Sirius thought triumphantly, then reached out to grab the squirming puppy who had pranced out (oh so gleefully) beside him. He flipped Joe over and peered at the tag. "Look! They're even your size!"

_"Padfoot!"_ Peter yowled, diving for his dog. Joe, however, had other ideas, and jumped clear of both Marauders, diving straight into James' lap. The husky bounced off the table next, and then off of Remus' head. Peter tried to chase him—undoubtedly aiming for the brilliant green (with little flying witches) boxers—only to slip on a slice pizza and fall flat on his face. Pandemonium followed.

In the end, the only conclusion that the exhausted and pizza-coated Marauders could come to was that they hadn't had such a good free-for-all since sixth year at Hogwarts. The ice had broken, quite unintentionally—all because of a furry black and white husky.

* * *

* * *

The Other Author's Note: I'd apologize for the delay—but not this time. This chapter has been done and in the tweaking process for a week, and wouldn't have been posted today had I not finally figured out the last link it needed. I do hope you enjoyed it, and thanks for sticking with me all this time. Stay tuned for Chapter Six: "So it Falls" and please review!


	7. Chapter 6: That Which Breaks the Heart

**Promises Defended**

_

* * *

Chapter Six: That Which Breaks the Heart

* * *

_

Remus was supposed to be there. Not him.

"Do I really have to go, Mum?" Harry asked plaintively, his green eyes wary. "They don't _like _me. The only time I ever met them, they—"

She sighed. "I know, dear. But it's the only place that I know you'll be safe. Hidden."

"But I won't get in trouble, really! I'll be so quiet that you don't even know I'm there. No one will see me—I can wear the cloak or I can—I can…" The twelve year old trailed off, swallowing.

"I know, Harry," Lily said gently. He felt like an intruder, like he didn't belong here _at all, _but Remus was stuck in a meeting with the Board of Governors. James was there also, so he was stuck. And Peter was meeting with an ambassador from _somewhere_, playing politician and doing something useful. And he was Harry's godfather, to top it all off, so Sirius had been elected. "But we can't risk it…or maybe we just _won't_ risk it. Not your life." She swallowed, squeezing her son's shoulder. "Either way, you only have to stay for eleven days, and then you'll be back at Hogwarts."

Harry bit his lip. "And then what?"

"By then, hopefully, the war will be over," Lily whispered. She really was feeling the strain these days.

The words came before he could stop them. "One way or another."

Both mother and child twisted around to look at Sirius, almost stopping in the middle of the Muggle sidewalk. He immediately regretted the words; his voice had sounded so cold, so dead. But he was only half-human these days, anyway, and he could not have felt more out of place.

_Besides, it's not like I'm lying, _Sirius thought to himself. Still, he took a deep breath to force the feeling away, surprised at his own steadiness. _One way or another._

His godson stared at him in silence for a long moment before Lily nudged him along, turning right to head up the immaculate front walkway of Number Four, Privet Drive. It was a quaint little house, freshly painted and with oddly weed free flowerbeds in front, but presented a nice, if Muggle, picture of contented prosperity. Sirius let his eyes travel over the newly cut front grass, the smooth driveway, and the utterly _perfect _atmosphere—and then grimaced. Somehow, the asinine perfection reminded him of his mother.

Harry spoke just as Lily raised a hand to knock on the front door, startling both adults. Sirius had been paying attention to anything but his godson, struggling to hide how out of place he felt, but this wasn't a question he could ignore.

"You're going to kill him, aren't you?"

Lily paled slightly, and the innocent words hung in the air for several more tense moments than they should have been allowed to. Youthful green eyes studied Sirius hopefully.

"Yes."

_Breathing was almost impossible._

_"Ah, were I you, I'd hope the opposite. So tell me why you fight."_

_"Why do you care?"_

_"Consider it friendly conversation."_

It was an odd memory for the moment, and Sirius forced his mind free from it without shaking his head. He was getting better at that, these days. Not better at forgetting—_will that ever be possible?_—but better at pretending. And he'd always been good at play-acting.

Lily's green eyes had suddenly found his, and Sirius sighed for effect. "I'm going to try to stop him, anyway," he amended. _Or die in the process._

Harry started to speak, but the door swung open, revealing a bony woman and a very fat boy. Sirius felt like he'd never seen either of them before, but both were recognizable enough, even had that been the truth. The years, he decided immediately, had not been kind to Petunia Evans.

Petunia Dursley, these days.

"What are _you _doing here?" she snapped angrily, going red in the face. The boy just looked confused, then frowned and returned his attention to the chocolate bar in his left hand.

"Hello, Petunia," Lily replied quietly. She no longer looked uneasy, of course—under pressure, Lily never did. Even so, Sirius could see the old pain rise in her eyes, and he wished that James was here to help her. This wasn't a time that she needed a _friend._ She smiled the old soft smile. "May we come in?"

"No!"

"Mum?" The boy looked up at her, confused by her vehement reply.

Immediately, the bony face transformed from anger to something that bordered on utterly idyllic love. "Don't worry, Dudleykins," Petunia said with a smile. "They're just some strangers who—"

"She said your name, Mum," Dudleykins pointed out. _Maybe he's not as dumb as I thought._

"Yes, well, she _is _a stranger now," Petunia snapped. "Go inside!"

Dudleykins gave her a strange look, clearly not accustomed to discipline from his mother, and trudged into the house. Over Petunia's shoulder, Sirius could hear him shouting something about a broken _Playstation_ and the stupid boy down the street, whining with the obnoxious certainty of a boy who always got his way. _Reminds me of Regulus._Lily's sister whirled on them the moment her son was out of earshot.

"I don't know what you're doing here, and I don't care about the message you left!" she hissed. "Just get out of here and never come back! You've already ruined my life once, and I won't have it again!"

Lily did not twitch. "I need your help, Petunia," she said softly. "Please."

* * *

"It's done."

Remus sighed and did not bother turning around to face his deputy headmaster. He could hear the stymied frustration in Snape's voice, and knew that venting his disappointment and anger on him would be useless, not to mention unfair. Severus deserved better, and it wasn't really his fault, anyway. But a giant injustice _had _been done, and Remus had played an entirely too large part in it.

_By arranging it._ He bit back the need to groan and shook his head instead.

"Flint doesn't know?"

"Of course he doesn't," Severus replied in a slightly chastising—and rather typically sarcastic—tone. "You know me better than _that._"

"And what will become of him?" There were some questions that Remus didn't particularly want to know the answer to, but the leader of the Order of the Phoenix could ill afford to be squeamish.

"He failed." To his right now, Severus shrugged. "Capture is not encouraged—death is preferable, as you well know. However, his escape ought to save his life, after sufficient punishment."

Sufficient punishment. Remus took a calculated deep breath. "And you?"

"I will live."

"You always _live_, Severus." The nonchalance in his friend's reply brought Remus' head around, and he stared at the other with annoyance. Irritation. Worry.

"Does anything else matter?" Snape replied seriously. "At this point?"

"No." He had to close his eyes. "I guess not."

"Facilitating Flint's escape should counteract my saving Potter's life," the other replied after a long moment, and Remus opened his eyes. "I should survive relatively unscathed, and he will not doubt my loyalty."

_Yet._

Neither of them said the word, but they knew it was coming. _Yet._ The time of choice was fast approaching.

* * *

"And who is _this_?" Petunia demanded, gesturing angrily.

They were inside now, which he supposed was a victory of sorts. The fat little boy, Dudleykins, was watching the trio of wizards over his chocolate pop with wide eyes, clearly wondering what his darling Mummy was going on about. The fat father, however—who had gotten _far _larger since the one time Sirius had met him, over thirteen years ago—was glaring at Lily with a blatant hatred that would have made James want to outright kill the bigoted bastard. _Good things Prongs isn't here, then_, Sirius thought distractedly. _Though, it's not really like I'm much better._

_Worse, these days.__ I've fewer morals to stop me._

The thought made him swallow hard, and Sirius hoped that no one noticed. Lily was answering: "I'm surprised you don't remember him, Petunia. He was at our wedding."

"I'm Sirius Black." Sirius nodded to her in what he hoped was a polite manner, trying to ignore Vernon Dursley's rabid stare.

"Oh, _you_," she snapped in a manner that made it entirely too clear that she _didn't _remember him, but was trying to pretend she did. Either way, she didn't like someone she knew to be a wizard, and Sirius found the attitude oddly exhausting. _Funny how such prejudices exist on both sides of the war, _he reflected. _Voldemort hates Muggles for having no magic, and she hates use for having it. _Somehow, however, he didn't think that the Dark Lord would find the contrast amusing.

Though one never really did know with him.

He managed a smile. "Yes, _me._" The glare from Lily indicated that she didn't appreciate his sarcasm, but it seemed to fly right over Petunia's head. _Good riddance, then._

"What are _you _doing here?" Lily's Muggle sister retorted.

"I'm here as a friend."

"You're no friend of mine!"

"No, I'm not," he replied, biting back something more suitable. Damn his temper for wanting to come out of the cage he'd constructed—"But I am _Lily's _friend, and Harry's godfather. Besides, our world isn't exactly safe these days."

"And you're bringing that danger _here?_" Dursley snapped, gesturing angrily. Did the entire family talk with their hands?

Lily sighed. "No, we aren't. If we're right, nothing will happen at all—"

"Because we aren't taking your brat in!" the fat man bellowed.

* * *

"He hasn't even come to see you, has he?"

She sighed. "He has been slightly busy, Lucius."

"Fine actions for a man in love," he drawled, crossing his arms and looking down at her. Damn him if he wasn't always doing that—but then again, on a more dispassionate day and in a less irritated moment, she might have granted him the privileges belonging to an older sibling. _But only if he stops trying to run my life.__ Then I might listen to his advice._

"Practical and intelligent actions, you mean," she retorted, meeting his gray eyes easily. She had years of practice, and had never really learned to back down.

Lucius sighed instead of glaring back. Slowly, he slumped against the wall, wrinkling his immaculate silver robes. Had he moved any faster, Julia would have thought the move to be premeditated, but she knew him better than that. Rarely did Lucius Malfoy show any type of worry, and when he did so, it was always reluctantly. He liked being impenetrable too much.

"I thought I told you not to come back," he finally said, his handsome face tightening.

Julia nodded. "You did," she replied softly. "But family never walks away."

"_He_ is not your family," her brother snapped.

"Not yet," she admitted, then smiled despite herself. _A part of him understands, even if he does deny it. But even Lucius has not forgotten how to hope. _"But someday…he might be."

He stared at her as if her hair had suddenly turned maroon and gold, opening his mouth to object and then closing it when no sound emerged. Slowly, Lucius' eyes slid shut, and she watched conflicting emotions war across his face for almost a minute. No, he had not forgotten hope—but he had not forgotten war, either. "Be careful, sister mine," he finally whispered. "Be very careful."

* * *

Harry looked around the room and sighed, trying to hide his disappointment. His mother and Sirius had won the argument, _of course_, because no one in their right mind tried to reason with Lily Potter for long. Nor did anyone in their right mind try to threaten Sirius Black—one was just as stupid as the other. Harry's mum could argue her way into or out of anything, and Sirius could just look at you with those dead blue eyes and make you believe that it was just far less painful to do it his way.

So the Dursleys had given in, and Harry was now staying with an aunt and uncle who he'd met only once before, and with a troll-sized cousin whose only hobby seemed to be eating. Secretly, Harry suspected that Dudley was about as intelligent as a troll, too, if not less so. He'd certainly never learned to wipe his face.

And he'd never learned about magic, either. All _three _Dursleys had almost keeled over and died when Sirius had pulled his wand out, and the Auror's use of a tickling spell on Dudley had sent _Aunt _Petunia into a nervous fit. She'd been convinced that her _baby _was dying, and it hadn't helped when Sirius had laughed, either. Harry's mum had mostly smoothed that one over, and had convinced the Dursleys to take Harry in while Sirius had stood there and stared. She'd wisely pointed out that _Harry _wasn't the target: his father was, and they only wanted to save Harry from being caught in the crossfire.

The story wasn't exactly true, but Remus had already made Harry promise not to tell the Dursleys what happened. He wouldn't have promised if he'd had his way, of course, but Sirius had pulled Harry aside and shared cold and hard truth that Harry had never considered.

_"And what happens when he _catches_ you, Harry?" the Auror asked, his blue eyes frighteningly bright. Harry swallowed._

_"I thought he wanted me dead," he tried to object, but the words came out woodenly._

_"He does. But he wants your father more."_

_He glared. "I know that."_

_"So what happens when he captures you to use against your father? Do you think that your dad would do anything less than sacrifice his life to save yours?"_

_"But he couldn't—"_

_"Couldn't what? Refuse to save you? You're right there, Harry." Those blue eyes were watching him closely, still burning oddly but compassionate at the same time. The two emotions seemed to be a contradiction, but Harry could see the concern on Sirius' face._

_"But he's the Minister of Magic!"_

_A long heartbeat passed as Sirius peered into his eyes. "So?" _

_"He's—he'd—he couldn't…" Somehow, that look broke what nothing else could, and Harry transitioned from child to young adult in those few seconds. He could see the weight Sirius carried, the burden of _hope _that he'd shouldered. Abruptly, he realized that his parents bore the same weight, fought the same battles. They'd been doing it for years, been fighting to save the world he was busy growing up in. And they'd never complained. Never stopped from doing what had to be done._

_"And he would," Sirius said quietly, his voice hardly louder than a ragged whisper. "You know he would. He loves you too much not to."_

_"That doesn't mean he _should_," Harry whispered, suddenly hoarse._

_"Tell him that." For all the harshness in the reply, the voice was oddly gentle._

_Harry couldn't. They both knew that. _

_"I'll go," he finally whispered. "I'll go."_

"So here I am," he muttered to himself, staring at the blank walls and sighing. The room was so _empty_, and he hadn't really brought much with him: just some homework and enough Muggle clothes for eleven or twelve days. He hated wearing Muggle clothes, too; Harry was so used to the flowing and sweeping feeling of wearing every day work robes that it felt funny to wear just what he thought of as underclothes. Yet there he was, wearing Muggle clothes and sitting in a Muggle house. Better yet, he was being ignored by his "family," and his cousin was a newt. There was absolutely nothing to do.

An hour into his "vacation" and he was bored out of his mind.

* * *

It had started with an explosion, and she'd been damned lucky to even get that much warning. She was sure that they hadn't meant to provide the warning, but something had gone wrong—though she doubted that she'd ever know what, and really didn't care, when it all came down to the facts. All that mattered was that the bastards were there, _now, _and she'd never really thought this might happen, for all her brave words.

In another life, Hermione might have chastised herself for such language, but that life had died when the _boom_ reverberated throughout the Granger household and told her that Draco Malfoy made good his threats. The Death Eaters had come.

_Hold for a few more moments, _she pleaded silently with the wards that Headmaster Lupin had constructed out of what she'd thought was pure paranoia. _Just a few more moments._Her wand felt slippery in her hand, and truthful witch that she was, Hermione knew that came from her own sweat. She had no idea what she was doing, no idea even how many of them there were outside, but she had to protect her family. Somehow.

"Ron," she whispered urgently, her head half in the fire and half out. Hermione didn't know if Fire Calling was supposed to work that way, but it had to tonight. "Please be there—" _Crash. _Someone or something was pounding on the door, surprised to find it magically warded. It cracked and shuddered, almost ready to give. "Oh, my God. Ron, be there. Someone—"

_"Ron!" _Hermione hissed. She didn't dare shout; she'd gotten her parents down into the basement, but the Death Eaters thought that the family was sleeping, and she only had seconds before they were through the door and could see her right there. _"Help!"_

"Hermione?"

Red haired, blue eyed, and with a ponytail frizzing out over his right shoulder, in that moment, Bill Weasley was the sweetest sight she had ever seen. Puzzled eyes studied her worriedly. "What's—?"

"There are Death Eaters!" she gasped desperately. "Here! They're—"

"I'll be right there." His face closed up, and then he was gone, leaving Hermione gaping in his wake and wishing that _any _other head would appear in the Weasley family fireplace. But no one came, prompting her to shout again, just a little louder this time. Bill couldn't try to face all those Death Eaters alone…could he?

_Crunch._

The door gave way.

* * *

There was no where to go save Avalon, but with seconds to spare and a family in danger, Bill knew he didn't have time to arrive in an Apparation point, negotiate the doors, and then find help. Even Tonks was at home, with her family, and though he could contact his protégée in a moment, one Mentor and student wouldn't do much good against whatever attacked the Granger household.

For a moment, the Auror wanted to kick himself for not asking how many they were—or even if she faced Death Eaters. But the wildly determined look in Hermione's eyes had told Bill that she didn't know, and he didn't have time to waste on questions.

_No time for anything._

Bill sprinted out the door without even a word to his family—they could not help, and Ron would insist on coming. He'd end getting in the way, or worse—_or dying_—and Bill could not afford to explain. _No time. _He'd heard the banging on the door, and was willing to bet that it was breaking by now. Or broken, already. The worst might have already come.

His wand snapped up, and he Apparated to the only place he could think of going, praying that he wouldn't find an empty house and doom Hermione because he'd guessed wrong. But there was one person who could be counted upon to face a group of Death Eaters on his own, and he wasn't on Avalon tonight. Tonight, Bill headed for Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place.

The front lights came on before his eyes had even adjusted to the difference between the Burrow and the still-dark street. The door opened before Bill managed to take two steps, and he could see the darkness that indicated the place where the ebony wand blended into the night.

* * *

Hermione ducked. There wasn't time to do anything else, and she hoped that the couch might shield her from the flying debris. It didn't, really; she was still pelted by door fragments as they flew by, but at least it hid her. For the moment.

She heard whispered voices, followed by a grunt.

"Check upstairs."

"Contain that thing."

"Watch your back—you never know what other surprises Lupin might have secreted away. I recognized his signature on the wards."

A harsh laugh. "For a man who's supposed to be brilliant, he didn't do a very good job on those, did he?"

The grunt came again, louder and more insistent this time. Somehow, the raw sound made a chill run down Hermione's spine. The second voice spoke again, snapping: "Will you _watch _that thing? It's drooling all over me—"

"Shut up, Moon."

"Enough, both of you!" the first voice drawled, with just enough of an edge to say that he snapped. "Moon, Bletchley, go upstairs and go _quietly._ Flint, you're with me."

Another grunt, this one more of a growl. Lucius Malfoy—she'd have known that voice anywhere—continued. "And Bletchley, contain your creature first. We wouldn't want it _eating _the Grangers and spoiling our sport, now, would we?"

Shuffling and a long moment of silence followed. She heard footsteps move to her right, into the kitchen, and hoped that Malfoy and Flint had gone that way, but _hadn't _gone into the basement. Another low and angry grunt cut through the empty room, and Hermione could hear Bletchley whispering and Moon grumbling under her breath. The noise definitely wasn't human, though she couldn't identify what it came from; Hermione had never heard anything like this before. Finally, unable to contain her curiosity, she snuck her eyes up over the edge of the couch, clinging to her wand with slippery fingers.

She barely had a chance to see the troll before Moon spun around. _"There she is!"_

_"Expelliarmus!"_Hermione screeched, using the first spell that came to mind—and the first one that any Hogwarts students learned in Defense Against the Dark Arts. Even before theory, they learned that disarming your opponent was often the best way to win a fight: to end conflict before it could start.

Unfortunately, that didn't work this time. It only made the Death Eaters laugh.

Red light whizzed over her head and made Hermione dive behind the couch once more, and she could hear Moon laughing her gravely laugh. _I am going to get myself killed! _Hermione raged at herself. _I knew _better _than to stick my head up! _More spells split the air and the wall behind her cracked and splattered all over the room, spraying the couch with fragments of plaster. She cringed, covering her head desperately, and heard the Death Eaters amicably discussing how they would finish her off.

Her heart pounded in her ears as if it wanted to overheat and then stop entirely, and purple light made the ceiling rattle.

"Coming out, little girl?" Moon taunted her. "Or do you want to be crushed?"

"Or perhaps we ought to send our little _friend _after her!" Bletchley howled in laughter, shooting a random spell in her direction. Hermione covered her head to avoid another shower of plaster.

The Death Eaters congratulated each other, and another moan came from the doorway.

"Get yourself _together_, Hermione!" she snapped at herself, half under her breath. "This isn't the worst that could happen."

"Oh, it definitely isn't!" Bletchley sniggered, obviously having heard her. "But we'll leave _that _for when you're in the Dark Lord's han—"

_"Engorgio!"_Hermione shouted, popping her head up again and aiming quickly.

"Look out!" Moon screeched, but did not move to help her companion.

Bletchley barely moved in time; the spell hit the edge of his cloak and immediately made it balloon up in size—but just one end of the cloak kept growing, until Moon impatiently hexed it with something far darker than a counter charm.

"Stop fooling around and get to work!" she snarled. "We've wasted enough time already. Just have your _pet _grab the girl so we can—"

The screaming started in the basement.

"—get out of here and deliver her to the brat."

"Don't let Malfoy hear you call his son that," Bletchley commented absently as Hermione shifted position so she could peer around the end of the couch. _Malfoy's _son_ What does Draco want with me…?_

_You hit him, you silly girl. Of _course _he wants to hurt you_, an inner voice pointed out as Hermione shivered. It sounded oddly like Snape, but had to be correct. Why _else _would Death Eaters have targeted her family?

The source of the screaming sank in even as that thought registered. Her parents were hiding in the basement.

_My parents!_

It was all Hermione could do to keep herself from jumping to her feet and rushing both Death Eaters—but she had to _think_, for Merlin's sake. _Think, Hermione, think!_ Her hands were shaking even worse than before. Her parents were screaming, and she thought she heard Malfoy laughing. _The bastard! He can't even strike back at me—he has to use his evil father to do his dirty work!_ The next time she saw Draco Malfoy, she was going to kill him. No questions asked. Delicate Little Draco was going to die.

_Act, Hermione!_ She screamed at herself, and edged her wand around the end of the couch. Moon and Bletchley were arguing again—something about delivering her family—and she only had one chance.

_"Petrificus Totalus!" _Hermione bellowed, aiming for Moon—she certainly seemed to be the smarter of the two.

The Death Eater fell with a thud, and Hermione resisted the urge to cheer. _Just three more to go, and I can do this. Right?_ She swallowed hard, and—

_"Stupefy!" _Bletchley wasn't very creative, but Hermione barely managed to roll out of the way in time. Before she could even come to her senses, though, the Death Eater had turned to face her again, and the troll was moving. _Oh, no._ The troll was stomping _towards _her.

_"Stupef—" Hermione_ never got the chance to finish.

_"Diffindo!"_ Bletchley shouted, and suddenly the couch was in two pieces…with Hermione right between them. Frozen, she could only manage to stare stupidly at the split cushions, wondering how that had happened without splitting her in half.

Giant hands closed around her, and Hermione did the only sensible thing for the moment, even though it wouldn't do any good. She screeched.

And screeched.

* * *

The Other Author's Note: Real life did it to me again, and (unfortunately) the job came first. I'm sorry that this one took so long, but I hope you enjoyed, and please do review! Until next time: PD7: "The New Face of Fear."


	8. Chapter 7: The New Face of Fear

**Promises Defended

* * *

**

_Chapter Seven: The New Face of Fear

* * *

_

Hermione screamed like she was dying. In fact, she screeched so loudly that her lungs were immediately sore, as if she was trying to burst eardrums and wake up the entire neighborhood. She screamed as loud as she could, and right in the troll's fat face—but she in no way dropped her wand. She distantly heard Bletchley shout something at the troll about shutting her up, and Moon moaning as her companion removed Hermione's full body bind from her, but Hermione kept screaming. The troll roared back in objection, spraying her with drool and snot, but Hermione didn't care. She just screamed.

After about fifteen seconds of that, the troll dropped her and clamped his hands over his ears, moaning in pain.

Hermione hit the floor and rolled, groping for her wand and coming up empty handed. She dove behind the bigger chunk of the couch as the troll screeched back at her (or at least she _thought _it was screeching, though it sounded far more like a subsonic rumble), clapping gray-green hands over his ears and shaking his head back and forth like a punch-drunk Auror.

"You idiot—"

"She's—"

"Arruggghhhhh!"

"Don't let her—"

Her parents were still screaming in the basement, high pitched and helpless with pain. The sounds sent a chill down Hermione's spine, making her feel sick—the world was spinning, the troll was moaning/screaming, the Death Eaters were shouting, laughter was coming from downstairs—_act, Hermione! Do _something_! Quick, before they can stop you! _Swallowing back the bile in her throat, Hermione tensed for action, trying to judge how far away the door was. Moon and Bletchley were partially out of the way—she could probably slip by before Bletchley could stop her, and—

"Grab her, fool!"

Bletchley shambled forward, and Hermione bolted.

"Hey!"

She'd never been a fast runner. Before she'd gone to Hogwarts, back in Muggle schools, she'd been made fun of for her knobby-kneed gait and her tendency to trip over her own two left feet. Two years of magic and flying on broomsticks (she hated heights!) hadn't done much for her coordination, but Hermione was trying. And she was going to make it! Bletchley had tripped over a floor lamp and Moon was blocked by the still-wailing troll. She was really going to make it—she could leave and get help and get back in time. Her parents were still screaming. Fifteen feet to the door.

Ten. Her breathing sounded like a struggling freight train in her ears, rattling around in her head like a backfiring automobile.

Five. She could just reach—

The door blew in a second time.

* * *

He sat in the darkness, staring down at the Font. As always, the power shielded behind the grate was both beautiful and terrifying—even more terrifying now that he had begun to understand. Remus shivered.

"This is the answer, isn't it?" he whispered, letting the carefully bundled stack of papers fall from his hands. "No notes, no clues. Just…here."

He watched silently as one hundred and fifty years of painstakingly created notes and theories fell into the world's last Font of Power, disappearing almost as soon as they made contact with the whirling currents. The rainbow dissolved Dumbledore's studies as if they'd never existed, erasing Remus' one physical connection to the Font. Air whispered through his lips. "I understand."

He finally did.

_One man.__ Four men. Walking. Two face to face at the end, so alike, but separated by the _one thing _that truly mattered._

_Four boys.__ Laughing. Joking. Smiling. Growing._

_Hogwarts.__ As it once was and will always be. Beautiful. Mysterious. Ancient. Watching and waiting, for the time had come. Darkness was encroaching, and Hogwarts would face it—but this was not Hogwarts' world. It was _his _world, and he would fight. For his world, for his school, and for his friends._

Cold. Flash. Truth.

_But some battles were always meant to be lost. Sometimes, the darkness has to be faced to be beaten. _Remus shivered again, and realized that this was his turn. Peter had accepted, then conquered his darkness. James' inner demons were enough darkness to suffocate any, yet he remained strong, even with the weight of their world on his shoulders. And Sirius had let the darkness in…not for himself, but for others.

Remus would do the same.

Cold chill.

"I'm sorry, Albus," he whispered. "Your road is not mine."

* * *

White light flashed over her head and Hermione dove for the floor. There were more of them—there had to be—and she was doomed. It was over. Her parents were still screaming—_weren't they?_—and they were all going to die. Or worse. It was over, and…she groped for her wand. _I'll fight, _she thought desperately, searching the room with her eyes. _I'll find my wand and fight._

"Hermione!"

Bill Weasley's voice. Her brain recognized it even when the facts refused to sink in. He seemed so out of place there, couldn't be there. She had to be imagining things.

Startled, Hermione screamed when a hand reached out and dragged her aside, away form the shattered doorframe. Red-white-green light flashed as Bill shoved her against the wall, stepping out of the door to clear the way for another. He had to duck immediately as Moon took a potshot at his head, and Hermione yelped again when red light grazed his arm and Bill hissed in pain. For a moment, he slumped into the doorframe, then bounced away to the right.

"Stay down, Hermione!"

Green light flashed like a thunderclap, and Sirius Black felled the troll. Moon and Bletchley dove behind the same couch they'd destroyed only moments before—it felt like a lifetime—trying to find any cover they could.

The world snapped into focus as she watched her wand jump up off the floor and land in Black's outstretched left hand. Ineffectual spells came from the Death Eaters' direction, but they bounced aside like so much water thrown at a brick wall. Black tossed the wand at Bill, then gestured dismissively with the now-empty hand. Immediately, the couch disappeared, simply vanishing into thin air as if it had never existed. Moon screamed. Bletchley froze.

Bill stepped slightly to his left and handed Hermione his wand even as Moon's came up—but Black was faster and the female Death Eater flew backwards, hitting the wall hard enough to make the ceiling shake. Her wand sailed out the still open door, but no one watched it go. Bletchley was still frozen, still staring. Hermione just gripped her wand and wondered if she wanted the Death Eaters to die or not. She didn't know, couldn't know. Didn't want to know. Hermione was frozen, too.

"Curse them, you fool!" And there was Flint, framed by the basement doorway—but he froze, too. Froze and stared, just like the others. Malfoy almost ran straight up Flint's back before he also skidded to a stop, gaping at Black. His gray eyes even widened to the size of small saucers, and his perfect skin was pale. Hermione slowly turned her head, almost afraid to look. Anything that had three Death Eaters frozen in place and Bill watching with a mixture of awe and fear had to be…questionable.

But Black was just standing there, wand extended and without an expression on his face. Slowly, he quirked an eyebrow at Malfoy, who visibly swallowed, his gray eyes flickering towards the door as if looking for a way to escape. Bletchley was shaking.

Then Malfoy recovered, moving too fast for Hermione's paralyzed eyes to follow. His voice filled the room, echoing ominously. _"Avada Kedavra!"_

Black sidestepped calmly, moving just far enough aside so that the brilliant green light could not singe the hem of his robes. Then he smiled, and Malfoy shuddered. The Death Eaters on either side of him seemed hardly to be breathing.

"Run," Black said softly when a long moment ticked by and they did not move. "Run while you can."

Hermione held her breath, but she shouldn't have bothered. A split second later, all three were gone, leaving the dead bodies of the troll and Carol Moon behind—and those of Hermione's dead parents cooling in the basement.

* * *

They took her to Avalon, but not before she'd noticed the red glimmer in Sirius Black's blue eyes and shivered. Yet he'd saved her, him and Bill, and he seemed normal enough. His voice was quiet and his words were kind; he didn't _appear _evil, even though her intellect told her that he ought to be. Of course, Hermione wasn't thinking as straight as she might have been—she too often found her eyes prickling with tears and her throat tight, but she refused to cry. She would _not _cry. She would get even.

Bill tried to distract her with books, history, and the ancient ruins that were scattered all over the Aurors' legendary island. It didn't work; she didn't care. Hermione could not _feel._ She was only empty.

In the morning, she started talking to Nymphadora Tonks about becoming an Auror.

* * *

Tonks was Bill's student, Hermione realized, and had not come last night because she'd been with her parents: a "Mudblood" Tonks and a pureblood Black. The young woman was almost as much of a contradiction as her lineage appeared to be, but Hermione liked her. Tonks was honest, and she understood the need for revenge.

"It's not something I've ever been driven by," Tonks said quietly over a breakfast neither was eating. "But I do understand the burn. As long as you don't let it take you too far, revenge is good motivation to become an Auror."

"I hope you never have to feel this way," Hermione responded darkly, feeling far older than twelve. _They say that war ages you, _the newly mature side of her said. _I never understood that until now._ Again, she had to swallow back the lump in her throat.

"Me, too," Tonks whispered, then straightened her robes distractedly. "One of my classmates, Jason Clearwater, lost most of his family a few months ago. I know he'd talk with you…if you like."

Hermione shook her head. "I'm not interested in sharing miseries. I just want to fight back."

"Well, then, Hermione, you've come to the right place."

_Right place, wrong time_, she thought bitterly. _But in five years, I'll be an Auror. Even if the war ends, I'm _not _letting this happen to anyone else._ For the first time, her life had a purpose beyond learning.

_Not while I can help it.

* * *

_

By afternoon, she was sharing lunch with Lily Potter, still not eating much but asking about Harry. Hermione had discovered that if she concentrated, constructing a little box in the corner of her mind, she could lock the pain away. It didn't hurt so much, then, and she could even forget—forget for a moment. Hermione swallowed and had to look away from the older witch. Only for a moment.

"You can stay with us as long as you need to," Lily said gently, squeezing Hermione's hand. "I know it's not the same, but…"

"Thanks," Hermione whispered, having to close her eyes. Shove the pain back in the box.

"We'll understand if you don't want to," Harry's mother said hesitantly. "You've got some cousins—"

She shook her head. _They're all Muggle. They'd never understand. _"I'd rather stay with friends." The words almost came out normal sounding.

"Harry's with my sister right now, for safety," Lily explained, nodding with understanding. For a moment, Hermione wondered how it had been for her during the war, Lily _Evans_, but she didn't want to ask. Didn't want to know if this had happened to her, too. "I'll bring you there as soon as you're ready to go." She smiled wanly. "They're Muggles, so Harry probably needs all the help he can get."

Swallowing, Hermione forced a smile. "I'm ready whenever you are."

"There's no hurry, you know."

Hermione shrugged. "I'd…I'd rather not stay here much longer, anyway," she said hesitantly. "It makes me—makes me—think. About…everything."

"I understand."

And she did. The frightening thing was that Hermione knew she really did.

* * *

The link was gone. Silenced. Blocked.

Emptiness. Careful construction, structured coincidences, and unexpected choices had come to naught. Nothing. _Nothing?_

A chill ran down his spine. It was still there, he knew. There but dormant. Waiting. The link was no longer under his control, and that did not precisely frighten him; it was merely cause for concern. _Noted._ And Malfoy had mentioned red eyes.

Those words. Six words. He'd not expected them, then had anticipated to discover an idle boast. Yet here they were, and there was red in his eyes. Nothing was idle about this opponent. This was the one upon whom he had been waiting for years. Someone, finally, was worth the effort. Someone worth challenging.

He smiled—his was a half-forced smile, but a smile all the same. It was working. Little by slowly, it was working.

* * *

Harry was waiting when she came to the door, and he hugged her without a word. Three days ago, neither would have thought to do so, but this was different, somehow—and Harry seemed older, too. Was this how he always felt, knowing that his parents risked everything every day? Did he always live with the fear of losing them?

His innocent embrace almost made her cry, but Hermione fought back the sudden need. Not with six beady eyes staring at her from inside the clichéd-looking Muggle house, and Lily's soft eyes watching her back worriedly. And then there were the blue ones, almost red, watching over her from the sidewalk's edge. She could feel his eyes, most of all, and sensed that was why Harry's strange looking Muggle relatives did not come out to object.

Hesitantly, Hermione waved goodbye to Lily and to Sirius Black, more aware of the Auror's presence than ever before. There was something about him, something different from the others on Avalon that she'd never managed to notice before. He frightened her, in truth, and she was glad to know he was on their side.

"Let's go inside," Harry said.

"Right." She swallowed.

Black nodded to her when she looked back, seeming to know, seeming to understand. _We'll get them, _his eyes seemed to say. And a chill ran down her spine. Red flashed, red on blue, evil yet innocent. _I will end this_, the eyes vowed.

* * *

* * *

The Other Author's Note: Yeah, I'm slow. And it's short. But I promise something surprising in PD8: Loyalty and Trust (rarely a more appropriate title than that one!), and I hope to get it done this week. As always, thanks for sticking with me, and please do review!


	9. Chapter 8: Bridges Built and Burned

**Promises Defended

* * *

**

_Chapter Eight: Bridges Built and Burned_

* * *

"Is it done?"

"It is, Master," Snape replied, kissing the hem of Voldemort's robes, but careful not to tip the flask from his pale hands. Some potions were most certainly _not _meant to be shaken, and this one would lose all effectiveness if even moved too quickly. Yet it was finished. Finally.

This potion had been his life's work, one he was both obscenely proud of and fervently wished he had never completed. A combination of no less than twelve different recipes (four of them so ancient that he'd had to reconstruct them from scratch and guesswork) and a dangerous infusion of dark magic, it was the most difficult thing Snape had ever brewed. He had been charged with this…this _tragedy _twenty-three years before, and had never thought to complete it. Yet he had, and he was honor bound to deliver.

So here he was, kneeling at his Lord's feet and torn. A fool would have suggested not giving this potion to the Dark Lord; a greater one would have suggested substituting poison in its place. But Severus Snape was neither, and no one was more aware of the thin line he walked than Snape was himself. Lord Voldemort and Remus Lupin, his two masters (so to speak), also knew, though only one of them truly understood him. The other—the more dangerous by far—only suspected the wavering of his heart, and could be given no evidence to support it.

So into Voldemort's hands went Snape's life work, a potion to grant immortality evermore.

"Well done," his darker master purred, accepting the offering, as it was his due.

"Thank you, Master," he replied, obedient servant that that he was

He simply called it the Elixir, nothing more grandiose or poetic. Severus did not normally name potions at all, even his own creations (once upon a time, that had been a duty he'd gleefully dumped upon first Julia Malfoy, and then Minerva McGonagall before her death), but this one warranted a name. So he'd called the potion what it was: the Elixir. His Elixir.

"I need not ask you if it will work, do I, Severus?" the cool voice asked, almost gently.

"I would stake my life upon it, My Lord," was the only answer possible.

"Have you?"

"There is but one portion," Snape replied honestly. He'd dared not even keep a sample for his own studies. This was the only batch, and there was only enough for one. "And I have destroyed the recipe, as ordered."

"Good."

He bowed his head, and watched long fingers beckon him to rise. Snape did so silently, watching and waiting as Voldemort turned the glass flask over, inspecting it with critical eyes. Finally, he glanced up at his potions master, arching an eyebrow. "And side effects?"

A chill ran down Snape's spine, but the cold feeling didn't keep him from feeling heartsick. "None, Master."

Voldemort smiled.

* * *

She'd wanted to ask him what he'd done to frighten them so, but had not dared. So, Hermione had told Harry about what had happened, about the fear in Lucius Malfoy's gray eyes and the way the Death Eaters had _fled _when faced by Sirius Black. (As much as she liked Bill Weasley, she certainly didn't think that he'd frightened them away; besides, Hermione had seen how _Bill _looked at Sirius, and the entire process made her wonder.) _Keep distracting yourself._ Harry was helping. He understood…mostly.

And she mostly managed to control the grief that so desperately wanted to control her. _If I could have just one more day to tell them…_Hermione swallowed back everythingfor the hundredth time. Sometimes, the memories were too much. _At least I got to spend Christmas with them, _she tried to tell herself. _One last Christmas._ She would _not_ cry! Later.

They spoke in whispers, huddled together on the floor of her smallish room. Harry now slept in a sleeping bag on the floor of his fat cousin's room, which might have worried Hermione had the bigger boy not been downright terrified of magic. Now, she only imagined his face as one of the bullies back in her old Muggle school, terrified of what he did not understand and could hardly believe existed. Such thoughts were even amusing before reality sank in.

"I wish Ron was here," Harry said glumly, glancing up from the textbook in his lap. With nothing else to do, they'd resorted to studying, which Hermione _knew _drove Harry batty. He'd rather be doing anything else, but they were both stuck away from everything familiar, and Hogwarts was the only thing they could think to fall back upon.

"Me, too," she admitted. "But don't you dare tell him that!"

Harry snickered, and she laughed. It was good to laugh, and she could, so long as she didn't remember.

Hermione knew she would have to remember, of course. Sooner or later. There was no avoiding the truth, the past, or sheer reality. She knew _that_—she wasn't stupid, after all, and she'd seen how badly the war could hurt people. True, the harsh reality of loss had hit her hard that night, had finally become _real_, but Hermione knew she had to deal with her pain. She just didn't want to do it now.

_Later._

There was a long moment of awkward silence, almost as if Harry could read her mind. He was shooting Hermione cautious looks out of the corner of his eye when he thought she wasn't watching, and looked uneasy. Acting on instinct, she opened her mouth to ask him what was wrong, but then swallowed and closed it. There were some things that one just didn't want to know—

"Hermione?" Harry asked suddenly.

She had to swallow again. "Yes?"

"I was wondering…could I ask you something?"

"Of course." Hermione bit back the need to say something snarky. Harry was serious, and he didn't need that from her.

"So, are you…you know, going to live with us after this?" Harry asked in a rush, trying to get all the words out at once. He looked embarrassed to be asking. "During the other holidays?"

"I think so." Her parents' faces flashed before her eyes, and Hermione had to bite her lip. "From what Sirius said…I think so. If you don't mind."

The last sentence had come out far quicker than she'd intended, too frightened and too hopeful.

"I don't," Harry reassured her right away, and then smiled sheepishly. "I'd always wanted a sibling, but Mum and Dad didn't think it was safe. I've always been a bit jealous of Ron, because he's got so many…" He trailed off uncertainly, as if he was afraid of hurting her. "I'd be nice to have someone to talk to, anyway," he finished lamely.

"Yes," Hermione agreed softly. "It would."

* * *

"I brewed the greatest potion of my life six days ago," Snape muttered as he sank into a green armchair—always his—in the professor's lounge. Kingsley Shacklebolt, newly armless and now teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts, threw him a strange look, but the potions master continued softly. "I brewed my masterpiece, one batch only, and then destroyed the recipe.

"And now Lord Voldemort is immortal."

"What?" Three heads snapped around to stare at him. Necks cracked sharply with the force of the sudden motion.

Remus was the only one who did not twitch; he only sighed. Ted Tonks—the new head of Gryffindor House following Mundungus Fletcher's suicide—was staring at Snape with wide and frightened eyes, while Shacklebolt looked eager to jump out of his seat and strangle the other man with his one good hand. Auriga Sinistra simply swallowed, tense on the couch where she sat next to Shacklebolt, and Sprout's mouth dropped open. Yet it was the normally frazzled Astronomy Professor who managed to say "_What _did you do?"

Snape folded his hands calmly. "After twenty-three years of trial and error, I brewed my Elixir. I assume that the Dark Lord has taken it by now, and is immortal. There are no side effects. He will not age, will not deteriorate. He will simply live."

"_What?_" Ted joined Sinistra this time, though for a far different reason. Remus leaned forward.

"Everyone in this room," he said quietly, feeling eyes focus on him—everyone _except _Snape's, and his mattered most—"is a member of the Order of the Phoenix. _Everyone_. Severus and I have brought you here today because he is also something else." Three sets of narrowed eyes stabbed at the potions master. "Severus, as you have undoubtedly surmised, is also a Death Eater. He was initiated the same day he left Hogwarts."

"Come to make confessions, Snape?" Shacklebolt rumbled acidly, his normally clear eyes dark. The stump of his right arm was hidden in his robes, but they all understood his bitterness. Chances were high that Snape had killed many of his friends. "A tad late, I think."

Severus seemed to be fighting the urge to roll his eyes, so Remus answered. "Severus is also the Order's longest surviving spy amongst Voldemort's followers."

"Twelve years last month," Severus supplied, still not bothering to look at the others. Outwardly relaxed though he appeared, Remus knew that stress was eating away at him. Sooner or later, he'd have to stop walking that thin line—he'd been suffering for far too long on behalf of people who hated him.

No one dared say a word until Remus nodded to Severus, who finally leaned forward and let his eyes sweep around the room.

"You are here—_I_ am here—because Hogwarts will fall under attack soon." Collective gasps, save for Remus, who had seen this so often that he _almost _just wanted to get it over with. "I do not know the date, and could not tell you if I did, so do not ask. But we have known for years that this day will come."

"So why tell us now?" Ted asked quietly. "Why reveal yourself?"

"Preferably so you do not stun me in the back at the wrong moment," was the arch reply. "I may not appear to be on your side, but I am."

"Why should we trust you?" Ted pressed.

"Because he's telling the truth," Shacklebolt answered before Remus could get a word in. Snape shot the former Auror a strange look, and the larger man shrugged. "Many small inconsistencies make sense now," he explained. "And…" he shrugged, unwilling to go on. "It makes sense."

After a moment, Ted nodded, glancing at Sinistra and getting a tight smile in return. She knew, of course—had known for years—but that was another story entirely. "All right, then," he said slowly. "Now what?"

"The students return tomorrow," Remus replied. "We slip into the normal routine, but we must be on our guard. No matter what, remember what Severus has said today. His actions may save us…if we allow him to do so."

_Footsteps on concrete floors._

_Screaming in the background, and the footsteps hesitate. After a moment, they continue._

_Black boots.__ Black trousers. Black robes. A choice has been made, and those who can escape have. It's those who remain that may die._

_Grim determination._

_Flash._

"Headmaster?" Sinistra asked gently. Remus was dimly aware of the fact that she'd asked him a question, so he smiled distractedly.

"I'm sorry—I must have been daydreaming. Would you repeat the question?"

She tried to smile back, but looked uneasy. "Why are the others not here? Is it because they are not members of the Order?"

"I'm afraid so," Remus admitted. "And I must ask you not to share this information with anyone…no matter what."

He didn't have to explain why. They all knew that Severus had trusted them with his life—even if they did not understand why. _I don't understand why, really_, Remus admitted to himself. _I just knew it had to be done, and Severus believed it was right._ And it was. Deep down, they both knew it was. Even if it killed them both.

* * *

Hands shoved deep in his pockets against the cold, Sirius strolled next to James in a deserted Muggle park. Snow fell erratically, peppering both wizards with a slight white coating that neither was in a hurry to dislodge. It helped them look like the Muggles they were—momentarily—pretending to be.

"Remember when we used to go out to Muggle pubs, just for fun, to see who we could fool?" James asked wistfully, almost reading Sirius' mind.

"Yeah. Those were the days." Centuries ago, they seemed.

"Don't say it that way," James said suddenly, his voice tight. "It makes me feel old."

Sirius snorted. "We _are _old, Prongs."

"Not so much. We're barely over thirty." His oldest friend shot him a smile, but Sirius suddenly went empty. He had to swallow to hold the darkness at bay.

"There are more ways to count age than years, you know." Like ten of them, spent in hell. _Don't think of that._ Sirius shook his head as James replied.

"I know. And I'm—"

"Don't say it," he cut him off. "Even if I make a hash of this, and become the next Dark Lord, don't ever say you're sorry. I made my choice." Sirius glared. "My choice, James. And I would do it again, even if I had to walk the exact same road and take the exact same risks."

"Don't even joke about that," was the shaky reply. "You're not ever going to become—"

"Of course I'm not." Sirius cut James off again, this time much more reassuringly. _Even if we both know I could very well be lying._ "It's just the worst case scenario."

"Don't even say that," James whispered.

"Sorry." The apology sounded empty, so he changed the subject. "Interesting meeting, that. I think Umbridge was eavesdropping at the door."

James snorted. "Nothing new there. But Fudge is up to something."

"That's hardly news."

"No, but I think it's something big," the Minister of Magic replied thoughtfully. "I know him pretty well now, and I'm certain that this is different."

"Betraying the Ministry to Voldemort kind of different, or slimy politician kind of different?" Sirius asked.

"Politician."

"Ah. Well, that's a relief." He cracked a smile. "Now, I know it's _your _problem."

"_My _problem?" James demanded.

"Yup. I handle dark wizards, you handle politicians. Didn't you get that memo?"

And James laughed, which was music to Sirius' ears. There was far too little laughter in his life these days, and making someone else laugh had always been a balm for his wounds. He could even smile freely, now, and chuckle at the offended look on his friend's face.

They'd just returned from Sirius' first department head meeting since his disappearance, and it had been obvious that the others had been slightly shocked to see him. The Wizarding world had swallowed his return fairly well; reporters still tended to ask what he'd been running from or what he had to hide, but on the whole, most people accepted that Sirius had done what he'd had to do, and then returned. _Besides, one good glare seems to chase the reporters away these days_, he thought wryly. _They don't really want to deal with me, either._

Nor did Fudge. He'd tried to demand that Sirius be replaced, but had been voted down by the others—unanimously. They were all grasping at straws, of course, looking for their mythical hero, but Sirius was willing to shut his mouth and deal with it so long as they left him alone and let him do his job. Even Fudge seemed to understand _that_, and Sirius hadn't even had to beat the knowledge into him.

In retrospect, he supposed that it had been just a little too easy. James was right; Fudge had to be planning something.

"So, what do you think it is?" he asked when they'd stopped laughing.

"I have no idea. Just a feeling, really." James frowned. "I wish Remus was here. Maybe he could see something…but he's far too busy."

"You might be able to tear him away from Hogwarts in a few days," Sirius suggested.

"Maybe. Until then, I'll manage. It's not like I don't have practice dealing with the slimy bastard."

"And his toadstool. Don't forget his toadstool. You've got to deal with that, too."

James tried to roll his eyes, but the effort vanished into laughter. "But she _is _a toad!" he objected.

Sirius grinned. "Ribbet."

* * *

One by one they came, trickling off the Hogwarts Express like so many water droplets, laughing and joking and glad to be back. Remus knew the exact number of students by heart, knew every name and every face, and _by_ _Merlin _he was so proud of them for facing the darkness and dangers and returning. Even if there was this deep sense of foreboding building inside of him, growing and gnawing at his soul. Remus was glad to see them…even knowing that the number would not remain the same, and within a month or two, some of those faces would be gone.

He swallowed back pain, forced away the teacher's protective nature. The Dark Lord would attack Hogwarts with or without students behind her walls, and he'd almost hoped that Voldemort would do so during the holidays. A Christmas attack would have made an excellent statement, if a bit too cliché for this Dark Lord. It had been done before. Yet he _could _send them home—this instant—or, better, could have prevented them from returning. Any sane headmaster would have done so. The board of governors even pressed for him to close the school, _to keep the children safe._

But the sad truth was more complicated. Most of these students were safer at Hogwarts, especially the Muggleborns and Halfbloods. They stood a higher chance of dying, one by one, when Death Eaters attacked their families and homes. Of course, the children of Death Eaters _were_ safer elsewhere, but most of the students were better off at Hogwarts. _Here, some of them might die, _Remus thought behind an impassive face. _Separated, most would._

One last look.

They didn't know he was watching from inside the first of the horseless carriages, and Remus intended to keep it that way. Gone where the days when he was just another professor, accessible to all his students and easy to get to know. His responsibilities were greater now, but so was his distance, and Remus knew that he frightened some of the younger students, especially recently. The visions were beginning to make him unpredictable and distractible, even at the best of times.

Almost on cue—

_Children in the woods, running.__ Running. Running the wrong way—but so right. Courage was not limited to adults._

_Trelaweny speaking, her eyes rolled back in her head and blood running down one cheek._

_Voldemort puzzling over words, scrawled on a piece of paper in familiar handwriting. His voice was soft, and he was alone, as he muttered:_

_"When darkness darkens innocent eyes…"_

The present snapped into focus. He knew those words! Remus felt a sudden surge of triumph, of almost forgotten victory. But then his eyes fell upon sad Hermione Granger surrounded by Weasleys and Harry Potter, and the visions took him once more.

_A little older, and a little wiser, Hermione Granger sat cross legged with the end of some sort of candy sticking out of her mouth. She smiled around it as Ron Weasley and Harry Potter threw chess pieces at one another in frustration, and the other Weasley boys shrieked with laughter. Lee Jordan sat beside Ginny Weasley—definitely older—as she struggled to pull a tangle out of her long red hair. He was throwing marbles at Fred and George every time he thought they weren't looking._

Lee Jordan?

_The Gryffindor common room was warm; a fire crackled in the corner and an enchanted paper airplane flew laps around a couch. Everyday—normal—laughter and studying, Hermione opening her mouth to remind the boys about some essay or another, because if they didn't do it, they'd never pass their O.W.L.s—_

Snap.

The carriages were moving, and the present closed in on Remus as his head whirled. Another term was beginning; he had responsibilities to the _now_. He sat back, sighing quietly to himself and wishing that he had more control over his strange powers, yearning desperately for just one more look. The scene had been so familiar and yet so different…it reminded him of days far in the past, a lifetime long gone. Four boys had once smiled like that, but their innocence had been stolen by war.

_And there is only one way to get that back_, Remus told himself, suddenly grim. He'd never been a warrior, never wanted to be one. He was better at defensive spells than offensive, had always been and would always be. But the wolf inside him suddenly wanted to attack, and for the first time in his life, the human was not interested in fighting the wolf back.

_Almost_, he consoled his wolfish instincts. _The time has almost come._ Laughter floated up from behind him, and Remus nodded to himself.

Almost.

* * *

* * *

The Other Author's Note: Be advised that this chapter is un-beta'd. I've gone over it several times, but any mistakes are to be blamed on me. I'm still underway and wanted to get it up today instead of later—I've made everyone wait quite long enough.

In other news, I know that the title isn't quite as advertised; look for "Loyalty and Trust" as Chapter Nine. I apologize for the delay, but my ship was at Fleet Week 2005 in New York City, which was a _great _port visit and a fantastic (if busy!) time. The New Yorkers really rolled out the red carpet for the Navy, and made every moment worthwhile. But I'm back in the groove now, and writing as quickly as my career will let me.

Stay tuned for PD9: Loyalty and Trust, in the near future. Dark days approach, and the final attack(s?) begin!


	10. Chapter 9: Loyalty and Trust

**Promises Defended

* * *

**

_Chapter Nine: Loyalty and Trust_

* * *

In retrospect, it was the only thing he _could _do, if he wanted to regain their respect. Trust he dared not ask for—not from these men and women, whom he had abandoned so callously (and would do again, if the situation required it)—but respect he needed. Regardless of what they really thought of him, Sirius needed the Aurors to follow him. So he had told them of his road, of what he intended to do, and of the promise made to himself in the midst of a dark night. _I will do what he has done_, he told them calmly._ I will walk the road Tom Riddle walked. I will become Lord Voldemort—but I will not lose myself._

For the first time, he'd been able to say those words and mean them. A miracle had happened, and it was the same miracle that had happened twenty-two years before: four friends, like brothers, had bonded and would not let go. They'd not let him fall, and Sirius knew that now. He only prayed that he'd remember not to lock them out.

Overall, the Aurors took the news fairly well. Better than he'd expected, even if Sirius was still too often the recipient of strange, half-frightened looks. Most of them seemed to admire him for taking such a risk, and none of them understood that _someone _had to. But he'd stopped trying to explain himself within a few short hours of his return to Avalon with Bill Weasley and Hermione Granger. There'd simply been nothing more to say.

During the intervening week and a half, he had built the island's defenses up, feeling that it hated him even as he struggled to protect it. Avalon did not embrace the darkness, could not. It was, and always had been, the Isle of Light. Of hopes, of dreams, of a world that might yet be again.

Sirius grimaced at his own thought process. Hope. He'd not allowed himself to feel it for a long time, yet now the emotion seemed…contaminating. Damn his friends for breaking through to him once more, damn them for caring. Damn _him _for letting them—but he was finally beginning to see the line between himself and Voldemort. The difference. The chance that might make it possible to win, even survive, this war. He'd been fighting so long that he almost did not believe an end was possible. Still—

"Sirius?" Alice Longbottom's voice; her hand hovered over his shoulder as if wondering if she dared touch him or not.

He jerked out of his reverie. "Yes?"

"I've been thinking. About that meeting yesterday." She chewed on her lip briefly, eyes narrowed. "Fudge seemed awfully eager to know where you were staying."

"And even more eager to be rid of me completely."

Alice shook her head. "I don't think so. In fact, I think he _wants _you to stay—for the moment."

"What are you saying?" Sirius peered at her, noticing for the first time the lines that worry had etched into her face and feeling guilty.

"That Fudge wants…well, I'm not really sure _exactly _what he wants, but it's got something to do with you," she replied. "The entire time you were gone, he hammered the Aurors. He was convinced that we knew where you'd gone off to, and that we were protecting you."

"Were you?"

"A bit," his deputy admitted. "We knew you'd come back when you were ready."

Sirius snorted. "Even I didn't know that. Not for sure."

"We did." Alice smiled, just a little. "You'd fought for too long to give up now." Her voice dropped as she unconsciously echoed his earlier thoughts. "Or even to see an end to this, somewhere beyond the horizon."

"Yeah." His voice dropped to barely above a whisper. "Somewhere. Sometime." _Somehow._

_"How long are you willing to last, Sirius?" the soft voice whispered in his ear. "What use is there in resisting, when I have all the time in the world?"_

_He did not answer, could not. He _would _not answer, and they both knew why._

_"They think you're dead," Voldemort continued. "Why not make it so? Why not just give up and die? End the pain?"_

_Again, he was silent, staring at the ceiling dizzily, then closing his eyes to fight the tears back. Three faces came to mind, then, so clearly that he might have sunk eight years into the past and _lived _again. But when he opened his eyes they were gone, replaced by bony pale features and glowing red eyes. Voldemort's expression was almost compassionate._

_"But we both know you won't, don't we, old friend?" he said softly. "The beauty and the tragedy of your situation is that you won't_ _give up. You never will. In that, we're very much alike."_

_A soft laugh._

_"And you wonder why the offer still stands."_

Reality again.

A chill ripped down his spine, and he reached out tentatively, like a little boy testing the ocean's temperature with one toe.

_Are you there?_

Heartbeat, then the equally surprised answer.

_Are you?_

And he still did not know who had called who.

* * *

"You've got to see this," Ron repeated, pulling Harry and Hermione down the front stairs and towards the castle's front doors. There were lots of windows, of course, but Ron was always one to do things the hard way. "C'mon!"

"We're coming, Ron," Hermione retorted, almost tart enough to sound like her old self. "There's no need to _drag _us."

"Of course there is." Ron grinned at her.

Despite himself, Harry snickered. "What are you going on about, anyway? That was a perfectly good game of chess Ginny and I were playing—"

"You were going to lose, anyway," his best friend informed him knowledgably. "Besides, this is much better."

"Oh, and why is that?" Hermione demanded. "It's just a storm."

Of course, that discounted the fact that Ron Weasley absolutely adored thunderstorms, and would gladly drag the other two out in them whenever he got the chance. He even liked to play _Quidditch _in storms, which even Fred and George weren't too keen on doing. Nutters, they called him, and Harry had to agree (on occasion) that they were right.

"This," Ron replied, throwing open the doors, "isn't _just _a storm. Look at it!"

Strange colors of black and gray were swirling in the sky, and lighting flashed every two or three seconds, giving the landscape surreal brightness and sharp edges. Trees leaned over sideways in the wind, shaking so hard that Harry thought they might uproot at any moment and go flying into the heavens. The clouds were especially low, especially dark, and moving extraordinarily fast. But there was no rain. No rain at all.

"Something's not right," Hermione whispered just as Harry said:

"This isn't a natural storm."

Ron nodded, suddenly serious. "There's power in the air. You can feel it."

"We have to tell someone," Hermione said immediately, starting to turn away.

"I already did," Ron replied glumly. "Professor Sprout told me not to worry, but Professor Shacklebolt was listening. He went to the headmaster's office, I think."

In the two short weeks since Kingsley Shacklebolt had come to Hogwarts, their new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor had quickly grown into a school favorite. The Slytherins even seemed to hate him less than they'd hated the haunted and tragic Professor Fletcher, and even Malfoy didn't dare cross him. Shacklebolt's dark eyes and lost arm were a testament to the battles he'd survived, and there wasn't a student in the school who dared snicker when he wielded his wand a bit clumsily with his left hand. He came to class with a new right arm about once every two days—from what the Misfits had guessed, the none of the types that the healers had tried on him worked very well. Even one-armed, though, Professor Shacklebolt was not to be trifled with.

"What's that?" Ron suddenly asked, elbowing Harry to get his attention.

"Wha—?"

"There!" Hermione pointed.

Shadows were moving in the trees, far away in the Forbidden Forest. For a moment, Harry flashed back to the giants' attack almost exactly one year ago, but he instinctively knew that this wasn't the same. Voldemort wouldn't try the same thing twice. Would he?

"What _is _that?" Ron whispered.

"I don't know," Hermione replied, squinting into the growing haze. Harry, too, stared intently, until a hand landed on his shoulder and he jumped.

"It's time to go inside, you three," Professor Shacklebolt rumbled quietly.

"Professor, there's something out there," Hermione objected.

"We know, Miss Granger. Now go inside."

* * *

"Bill?"

She grabbed his arm suddenly, dragging him out of his chair and across the room. He and Tonks had been sitting quietly in the library, going through applications for class 4905, but her short attention span had a habit of slowing things down quite a bit. This wasn't the first time Bill's young student had pulled him away from work to look at something interesting, and he started to protest until he looked out the window. Tonks was staring at the sky.

It was black.

"Not again," Bill hissed under his breath, quickly calculating who was on Avalon and who wasn't. Most importantly, Sirius _wasn't _there, which meant they couldn't depend on him for any miracles when the Dark Lord came to call. For a moment, Bill toyed with the idea of Fire-Calling the Aurors' head, but he immediately decided against it. Sirius might very well be what Voldemort was after, and denying him that was at least a victory. He'd not lead their world's only hope into a trap.

"What is it?" Tonks demanded. "What's happening? This isn't a normal storm."

Thank Merlin that she understood that intuitively; Bill didn't have time to explain. "Darkness," he breathed, now grabbing _her_ by the arm and pulling Tonks towards the library's closest exit. "An attack is coming."

_Probably._ _I could be wrong. _Avalon reflected darkness of all kinds, but the only other time that Bill had seen the sky like that was during Voldemort's previous attack. Somehow, he couldn't imagine this being anything else.

"Oh, _shit._"

"Pretty much." Bill broke into a jog, yanking his wand out of his robes to set off the alarms as they went. Immediately, a high gonging noise filled the island, and Aurors everywhere hurried to their places.

The first attack had come as a surprise, but the Aurors had vowed never to let that happen again. Bill had laughingly called their preparations "battle stations," knowing that only his father and the Muggleborns on the island would appreciate the reference, but the nickname was appropriate enough. Everyone had their place, and all knew how to fight the battle that needed to be fought. Voldemort would not corner them again, would not put the responsibility for defending them upon one extraordinary man. Sirius already had enough to bear.

"The new French students!" Tonks suddenly shouted at his side, making Bill skid to a stop.

"Oh, sh—" he cut himself off hurriedly. "Let's go."

The brand new Auror trainees (bound for Candidate Class 4905 as part of the Laçenne Agreement) had just arrived that morning, and they had no idea what to do or where to go. Most of them hadn't even gone beyond basic defensive training, and they'd be far more of a liability than anything else in a fight. Not for the first time, Bill was grateful for his quick-thinking protégé. Tonks was everything a Mentor could want and then some, so long as one managed to overlook her clumsiness and her insane curiosity.

"Damn!"

She tumbled to the floor, having tripped over something (likely her own left foot), swearing all the while. Wordlessly, Bill skidded to a stop and dragged her to her feet.

"Thanks," Tonks muttered, red-faced, and then took off before he could answer, pounding for the students' quarters.

Bill's warning gong still hung in the air, giving everyone goose bumps and bringing the island to life. He could hear Alice Longbottom's voice yelling orders, and Frank's booming one drowning hers out from time to time, but Tonks angled away from the voices, and Bill followed. Those students were the weak point. If they tried to run, they'd only end up hurting themselves…and their mistakes might give the Death Eaters an opening.

It only took one, the Aurors taught. One opening, and you were knocked off your broom and out of the pitch. Bill had to prevent that opening, otherwise Avalon's carefully constructed defenses would crumble, and the Dark Lord would have his second Azkaban.

* * *

James sat back, finally able to look at his desk with something approaching satisfaction. The giant stack of paperwork was gone: filed away, dealt with, or just handed off to someone who had a better idea what to do with it. The important part, however, was that it was _gone_, dealt with, _done._ He'd been saddled by such a backlog that James had never thought he'd get ahead, but for the first time in months, he could sigh with satisfaction.

"About ti—" he started to whisper, just as his robes—thrown haphazardly over the back of a chair near the door—started to dance. "Huh?"

Confused, James rolled in their direction, bumping his chair into the corner of the desk in the process. He swore. "Ow!"

Finally, though, he reached the robes, and hauled the squirming mess of cloth into his lap. He started digging through it, frowning and wondering what in the world could be going on, when James suddenly became aware of the ticking noise that filled his office. _Ticking.__ Ticking!_ Frantically, James' hands dove into his left breast pocket, and came free holding the gold pocket watch.

In the letter Dumbledore had sent with this watch, so many months ago, that he had only seen the watch read "Chance" on two occasions. James had seen it do so on a third, during the Diagon Alley attack, but now—now it read _Danger, _which he had never seen before, even in the worst of times. The world did not yet hang in the balance, but something was terribly wrong. Cold chills ran down his spine. There was trouble somewhere, and he didn't know where.

A quick motion of his wand sent Floo powder flying into his fireplace even as James' chair shot over to sit in front of the ornate marble and brick structure. "Molly Weasley!" he cried, frantically hoping that she was home.

"Yes?" the answer came almost immediately, but James did not have time to sigh with relief.

"Project Guardian!" he snapped. "Tell me what's happened!"

To her credit, Molly did not bother asking how he knew, or even what he was talking about. She didn't even bother to answer; her head immediately left his fire and he saw shadows moving beyond the Floo in the Burrow. Seconds later, she was back.

"There's nothing here," Molly replied with relief in her voice. She wasn't looking at James; her eyes were probably still focused on the giant map of London. "Nothing at all. Even the Ministry looks qui—"

"That's impossible," James replied breathlessly, clutching the watch in his left hand. His knuckles had long since turned white. "I know something's happening, something desperate—it's got to be somewhere that shows on Project Guardian. There's danger, Molly!"

She threw him a puzzled look, then horror dawned on her face. "Sirius? Could it be Sirius?"

"No. _No._" Without thinking, James threw another handful of Floo powder into the fire, and watched Molly hurriedly duck out of the way. "Sirius Black!"

Horrible seconds crept by as the watch ticked on, seemingly growing louder and faster with every passing moment. He was surprised that Lily hadn't already stuck her head in to ask what was the matter, but there was hardly time. If something had happened to Sirius… Suddenly, a black haired and blue eyed face appeared in the fire, his expression mildly curious, but perfectly healthy.

"Yes?"

James almost fainted in relief. He croaked, "You're okay."

"What happened?" Sirius snapped, his eyes suddenly narrow.

"I don't know—Dumbledore's watch suddenly went crazy, signaling danger, and it's got to be somewhere," James answered breathlessly, feeling fifteen again and frightened. "But it's not London—"

"I'll be right there," Sirius cut him off, and his head snapped out of the fire.

But James swallowed. Somehow, he already thought they were too late.

* * *

"I've got to go, Julia."

She smiled sadly. "I understand."

On impulse, Sirius leaned forward and kissed her—they were in a private room at the Leaky Cauldron, incognito and far from prying eyes. He'd waited far too long to see her again, to thank her for everything. Julia, also, deserved an explanation; he'd walked out on her as much as he'd walked out on everyone else, and even when he was trying to pretend he wasn't human, Sirius loved her. He'd loved her madly since seventh year, and if time, distance, and being on opposite sides of a war could not change that, no amount of idiocy on his part was going to chase her away. Or so she'd claimed, anyway, and Sirius believed her.

Being around Julia was also the final straw. Looking in her eyes had finally made him _understand_ the truth that Peter, James, and Remus had slowly wormed into his mind. It was his heart that made him different from Voldemort, his ability to love and his willingness to sacrifice his own happiness for others'. And Julia had been able to offer even what his friends could not: a future. Seeing her made Sirius dream again, and Alice's words from earlier that day rang true. There would be an end, somewhere over the horizon.

But the horizon no longer seemed so far away, not with Julia beside him. So they had talked and joked, whispering sometimes and laughing others, wondering where they might be in two years. It was a pleasant fiction, really, borne of a renewed ability to hope and to dream. Still, for a few hours they had been lost in that dream and in each other, and Sirius felt strangely at peace. He had needed those hours far more than he would have admitted yesterday.

"I love you," Julia whispered, making him smile.

"And I you," Sirius replied, lingering for just one moment. There were times when he desperately wished that the damn world would just wait. Just for a few minutes.

"I won't ask you to be safe, but I will ask you to come back," she continued softly.

"I will." Sirius smiled. "I promise."

* * *

Unnatural clouds had started gathering in the sky that morning. Most of the students thought that they were in for a monster of a storm, but Remus knew differently. The time had come, and the storm was the work of the Font, reflecting _him._ Remus had known it would not rain, but the wind would blow, and that thunder would roll. Lightning already split the sky, because he _knew_.

_Time to face the darkness, Moony, _he told himself. _Are you ready?_ Of course he wasn't. Humanity never was. _Let it be the wolf, then_. For once, the other half of his soul was a comforting presence. The wolf understood waiting in ways the human never would.

He drew in a deep breath and let it out, standing in front of the open window. Papers flew all over his office, and the curtains danced as the wind whipped them from side to side. He shivered slightly, more from the wind's cold bite than anything else, surprisingly unafraid. All the preparations had been made. The orders had been given. The students were locked inside the Great Hall, watched over by almost all of the Professors—the teachers who wanted to fight were already at their posts, and they were as ready as Remus could make them. Everyone knew what to do in case the defenses failed.

They were still probing, those small figures that dotted the landscape outside the locked gates. They were testing Hogwarts, testing _him_, and waiting for their master to arrive. He would come this time, Remus knew, because this was the final attack. Voldemort had destroyed all of the Wizarding World's other icons already; Hogwarts was all that had stood as a constant symbol against him and for the light.

_I only wish it could always be that way, _Remus thought heavily. _But all things, even the best things, must end._ He swallowed back his one regret, his own sorrow. What was it that Sirius had said? _Let the darkness come._

"He's here," a quiet voice said from behind him.

"So soon?" Remus whispered, caught off guard. He hadn't heard Severus come through the unlocked doors.

"Yes."

"Well, then. I suppose it is better to get it all over with." Remus forced himself to smile.

"Don't say that," Severus managed. The headmaster did not need to glance over his shoulder to see that Snape was tight-lipped, white-faced. He loved this place, too, Severus Snape, in his own hard way.

Yet his love for Hogwarts ran far deeper than Remus' had, or at least before the headmaster had encountered the Font. In many ways, the school had meant a new beginning for both of them, a place to call home and love without reservation. Hogwarts, in the person of Albus Dumbledore, had given both men chances that they would never have received otherwise, but both loved the school for more than what Dumbledore had done for them. There was just something _about _Hogwarts, something you almost had to teach there to understand. Snape, however, had understood from the beginning, even if he never spoke the words.

"What else is there to say?" Remus whispered. "We both know what's coming. There will be no victory this day." He swallowed, and had to shrug apologetically. "Not for Hogwarts."

"No. Not for Hogwarts."

The unspoken words: _And we both _do _know what is coming, but let us pretend a little while longer._ Thunder cracked loudly, seeming to shake the room.

A moment later, lightning lit the sky so brightly that it seemed almost to be a cloudless day once more, as bright and as beautiful as the morning had started. It was barely five in the afternoon, now, but the sky had been dark without that flash, and Remus could see that the Death Eaters were no longer moving. They were clustered around one slim figure that he did not need a wolf's senses to recognize.

"There he is," Remus whispered.

Snape stepped up next to him without a word, following his gaze. Together, they watched Voldemort instruct the Death Eaters, and Remus wondered if the Mark was burning on Snape's arm now. Certainly, his Lord was commanding him, was demanding obedience and action. Neither, however, spoke of that. Such things did not need to be said.

The werewolf and the pureblood stood side by side for a long moment, silently looking upon the landscape of the school they had sworn to protect. Remus felt like he was looking at Hogwarts through new eyes, or else through old ones—with eyes that were seeing the beautiful castle and grounds for the last time. He could feel the Font stirring within him, could feel it rising and raging as his defenses were battered and beaten at. But the efforts were useless, and even Voldemort was beginning to sense that; Remus could see his frustration in his movements. He was pacing back and forth, probably hissing angrily at his followers as they failed again and again.

Wind was whipping at the Death Eaters mercilessly, driving them away from the castle. The defenses would not break, would not even crack. They were the same wards that had defeated Voldemort almost a decade before, though they were crafted a bit differently and with greater understanding. Remus Lupin would never be the type of wizard that Albus Dumbledore had been, but he had a closer bond to the Font of Power. He didn't quite understand why. Remus only knew it was true.

Just as he knew that the defenses would not break until he fell. Voldemort, too, seemed to understand that, and he was growing increasingly angry as the moments passed. They'd been prying at the wards for almost an hour, now, with no effect. _How can such a long time feel like but a moment? _Soon, the Dark Lord would have to change tactics.

He took a deep breath, and stretched his senses outwards. Remus barely noticed Severus shifting at his side, nervous and pale. One glance at the other man was almost enough to break Remus' concentration; turmoil filled the dark eyes.

"I'm going to have to betray you," Snape said softly.

"I know."

Remus felt surprisingly calm, even as Severus stepped back. Lightning filled the sky, and the wolf sensed danger.

He might have turned in time, but there was little reason to try.

Light reflected off of the blade a split second before the silver knife slid deep between his ribs and into flesh between them, barely missing his spine. Unable to help himself, Remus screamed in pain, a low human howl that shook the castle to its foundations.

And the defenses shattered.

* * *

The Other Author's Note: So here it is—the beginning of one of the longest and toughest battles yet. I've been working hard on this one, so I'd appreciate feedback; please let me know what you think! We all know I'm a review hound, and with real life closing in, motivation really makes the difference. I aim to finish this baby before I deploy, which means I need to get cracking…and it'll go much smoother with your help. So drop me a line, even if it's three words. I love to hear from you! 


	11. Chapter 10: The Last Icon

**Promises Defended

* * *

**

_Chapter Ten: The Last Icon_

* * *

Snape came through the teachers' entrance quickly, striding with a purpose and hardly looking at anyone. His face seemed paler than usual, and his eyes were narrowed, focused a thousand miles away. Also, deep within the folds of his robe, hidden where none of the students could see it, his left hand was clenched into a fist. As one, the professors turned to stare at him, and then fury filled Shacklebolt's dark eyes.

"You bastard," he all but whispered, his voice hardly changing from its normal tone. Had one not looked into his eyes, the anger would have been impossible to see.

The Auror started forward, his long strides eating up the ground between them. Instinctively, students scattered out of the way, staring at the two professors. Snape never stopped walking, never so much as looked at Shacklebolt.

"Where is he?" the larger man demanded, placing himself in the deputy headmaster's path. He squared his shoulders and waited, patient but deadly.

Harry felt his heart leap into his throat. _Is he talking about Remus?_ he wondered sickly. All the students now knew that Voldemort was out there, and Death Eaters surrounded the school. Harry, however, had long known that _Snape _was a Death Eater, too—even though his parents, Remus, and others all claimed he was on their side. But what if he _wasn't_? Frightened murmurs were beginning to fill the Great Hall.

Finally, Snape halted, and his eyes focused on Shacklebolt. "Nowhere," he said softly, "where he can help you."

Shacklebolt's eyes widened, and for a long moment, he seemed able to say nothing. Several seconds ticked by before he breathed the word everyone was thinking:

"Traitor."

"Yes."

Snape's response was almost lost in Sinistra's shout—_"The wards are down!"_

Shacklebolt moved blindingly fast, reaching for his wand with inhuman speed. But Snape was faster, and suddenly his wand was pointed at the Auror's face, only an inch away from his nose. As students gasped, Harry realized that the deputy headmaster held his wand in his _left _hand, and the sudden movement had revealed his Dark Mark, burning bright red and angry. Some students screamed. Most of the Slytherins snickered.

"You cannot help him, but you can help _them_." A jerk of his head sent greasy hair flying everywhere, but every student knew who he meant. "You can hate me another day, Shacklebolt. Kill me some other time. For now, _get the students out._" He stepped very close to the Auror, shoving his wand away and staring into his eyes. "You have very little time until this place is overrun. _Use _it."

And then he was gone, striding into the too-early night as Shacklebolt stood frozen, wasting precious moments. They all did, but finally, Shacklebolt turned to exchange a horrified look with Professor Sinistra, who was almost as pale as Snape. Heartbreak made her features sharp. She nodded.

Immediately, the former Auror swung into action. "All students, follow your heads of houses! Professors, follow your designated escape routes!"

Shacklebolt darted forward even as professors started shouting. Sinistra was right behind him, screaming for him to slow down and not do something stupid—an explosion rocked the entire castle, and students screamed.

"Gryffindors!" Professor Tonks yelled over the din, suddenly looking very short amongst the chaos.

"Ravenclaw!" Flitwick squeaked, jumping up on a table and waving his arms.

"Hufflepuffs, here!" Sprout bellowed, using a much larger voice than Harry would have expected from her.

Professor Vector pushed her way through a clump of confused little girls. "Slytherins, to me!"

Harry saw Malfoy and his hangers on hesitate before heading in her direction, but most of the house was heading in her direction. Vector was, at least, one of their own…even if this was no time for house rivalry. Another explosion, and the floor shook underneath them. Not far away, Lavender Brown screamed, and Angelina Johnson fell. Fred dragged her to her feet.

"Come on!" Ron grabbed Harry and Hermione, dragging them deep into the Gryffindor fray. Soon, both were surrounded by a sea of red hair, and Professor Tonks had to struggle to be heard over the shouting.

"Weasley, bring up the rear!" he shouted to Percy, who nodded jerkily, pale faced and frightened. But his wand was out and he was looking everywhere; within seconds, he'd pushed his way out of the crowd and to the back, shouting for students to _hurry up_, for Merlin's sake, and to follow Professor Tonks.

"Follow me!" Tonks continued, gesturing and leading the Gryffindors through the door Snape had used only moments before. They began to file through one by one, some pushing and shoving at the others, but mostly working together.

"The escape routes have been planned for years," Hermione informed them nervously. "They were designed in case of a fire or an attack hundreds of years ago, and—"

"That's nice, Hermione," George said distractedly, looking around wildly.

"What is it?" Harry started to ask, but was cut off by the largest explosion yet, which was amplified by a deafening clap of thunder.

_"Here they come!" _Shacklebolt's booming voice drowned everything else out, even people screaming. Harry twisted around just in time to see the doors collapse inwards.

_Crack!_

Screams.

Professor Trelaweny muttered three words and then fell down in a dead faint.

Students shoved one another in an effort to escape faster. At least one child fell and was only saved from trampling by a quick-handed classmate.

Even the Slytherins seemed frightened, but Harry didn't have time to appreciate that. Dust filled the air, making him cough, and light was beginning to flash—red, green, and purple rainbows of magic. He could hear a high-pitched voice commanding over the din:

"Take them alive!"

Someone screamed in pain. It might have been Sinistra.

"Keep moving! Everyone keep moving!" Percy.

"We have to go! Hurry up! Hurry—we're all going to—"

"Shut _up, _Lavender!" Neville, shoving her through the door with more force than necessary. Dean caught her, pausing to grin nervously at Neville through his terror.

"Ravenclaws, look out!" Cho Chang?

A table flew through the air and landed on a group of students. Some were pulled from the rubble by their classmates, others laid still. Laughter filled the air.

"Where's Ginny?" George demanded.

"Huh?" Fred asked, for once not on the same brainwave as his twin.

"_Where's Ginny?_" George shouted again, twisting frantically. "She's _not here!_"

"Oh, no!" Hermione went white and grabbed George's arm. "She said she was going to take a nap, and you know how Ginny sleeps—"

_Like a rock._ Harry shivered.

"We have to go get her," Ron said immediately.

"Are you mad?" Hermione and Fred asked together. Hermione continued alone, shaking. "We'll never get out if we do!"

But Ron and Harry exchanged a look. "The cloaks!"

Without another word, the Misfits broke free of the other Gryffindors, shoving through the crowd and heading for the nearest staircase. Fortunately, none of the others wanted to go _up_: the Slytherins were heading for the basement, the Hufflepuffs towards the greenhouse, and the Ravenclaws towards the library. A few seconds of pushing later and they were free, sprinting for the stairs with George in the lead.

"Where do you think you're going?" Percy's voice chased them as the Misfits took the stairs three or four at a time. "Get back here!"

"Sorry, Perce! We've got to get Ginny!" Ron shouted back, never looking over his shoulder. Percy had his responsibilities. They had their own.

Harry, however, did risk a look back at Percy's stricken face—just in time to see Dementors floating through the shattered doors.

* * *

"What happened?" Sirius strode in without knocking, with Lily fast on his heels. She shut the door behind them as James shrugged helplessly.

"I don't know," he admitted, tossing the still ticking and jumping watch towards his friend. Sirius caught it out of reflex.

"'Danger'," he read aloud, then glanced up, his blue eyes calculating. "Has it ever said this before?"

"I don't know. I'm not even sure what it means—the watch has read 'War' every day, except during the attack on Diagon Alley."

"Did it say 'Danger' then?" Lily asked.

"No. It said 'Chance,' which is even worse," James replied. "Those are moments when the world hangs in—"

"Never mind that," Sirius cut him off. "We've got 'Danger' now. What might it mean? You said Project Guardian shows nothing…?"

"Nothing at all, unless he found a way around it."

"No." Lily shook her head. "There's no way around the Marauder's Map, either, and it's the same principle."

Sirius was studying the watch with impassive eyes when the hand slid towards CHANCE. James jumped, starting to open his mouth in the sudden silence, but then the hand inexplicably ticked back to DANGER. Sirius' head snapped up.

"I don't know."

Suddenly, Sirius' eyes slid shut, so briefly that James almost did not notice. They flickered open again immediately. "This isn't good."

* * *

"There's nothing out there," Bill finally said, sighing. He wasn't sure if the sigh came from relief or disappointment; his blood was singing and ready for battle, and every inch of his body was tense for action. But he'd spoken the truth: there was _nothing _out there.

"I think you're right," Tonks muttered beside him, her brown hair tied back in a messy ponytail. Sometime during their wild preparations, it had reverted to its original color, as had her blue eyes. That hadn't happened before, but Bill appreciated the focus that his trainee showed under pressure. Whatever else could be said about her clumsiness, Tonks did not freeze up over the small stuff.

"Damn," Alice growled, glancing at her husband. Frank nodded wearily.

"The sky's still black," he clarified for the others. "_Something _is happening."

"But not here." Hestia frowned, then jerked her head back towards the Main Villa. "Unless you count ten panicked French students, but that's another story."

Tonks and Bill had been right—the French students (all of whom were still learning to speak proper English) had been rather frightened by the alarm. Almost all of them had lost family in Laçenne, and they'd gained a healthy respect for Lord Voldemort from that attack. Not knowing what to do had frightened them more than anything, and Bill _had _been able to calm them down fairly quickly. Still, the situation was far from ideal, and most of the Aurors doubted that they could hold the island long.

"So why is the sky black?" Clearwater pressed, glancing upwards. Bill resisted the urge to bristle—he didn't like Tonks' classmate, and probably never would. Still, Clearwater was a good Auror, even if he was bent on revenge, and Bill respected that.

"Good question," Frank grumbled, then rose out of his crouch. They'd built a shelter to hide behind on the beaches surrounding the island—more a short wall than anything else, that the Aurors could take cover behind while defending the island. Now, however, those carefully thought out defenses seemed less than useless.

"You don't know?"

"Not a clue." The older wizard grinned briefly. "Or, perhaps a clue. An…old book I read spoke of Avalon's weather as a reflection of the Wizarding world. As for storms and darkness, well, you can come to your own conclusions."

"So something bad is happening. Somewhere." Tonks frowned. "But we don't know where."

Alice's scowl told the tale. "X marks the spot, Tonks," she replied tightly. "Now we just have to find the X and rain angry Aurors down on top of it."

* * *

"Ginny!"

"Ginny!"

"_Ginny!"_

Five voices yelling out of key was enough to wake anyone up, even Ginny Weasley, heavy sleeper extraordinaire. Even as the rest of the Misfits burst into the common room, they could hear footsteps pounding down the stairs from the first year girl's dorm.

"What's going on?" Ginny demanded, still rubbing sleep out of her eyes.

"Death Eaters!" Ron gasped desperately, managing to beat the others by a mere heartbeat. "They're here, and—"

"They've broken into the school," Hermione cut him off. "Professor Lupin is hurt or dead, and everyone's running. We've got to go, _now_."

Ginny blinked, and then her face went pale. "You're not joking."

"D'you think we're crazy?" George demanded. "Grab whatever you'll need and let's get out of here."

"Right." She bolted up the stairs, followed quickly by Hermione on her way up to her dorm. The boys followed suit, and soon Harry and Ron were ripping into their trunks, searching for Invisibility Cloaks and any useful supplies that they could find.

"Dungbombs?" Ron asked, discovering a package near the bottom of his trunk.

"Definitely. What about itching powder?"

"Probably not. I don't think Death Eaters care if they itch."

"Right," Harry agreed. "Never-Non-Bouncing-Bouncy-Balls?"

"Maybe. What do you think of exploding cards?"

Harry shook his head. "Not a big enough boom."

"True." There was a _clonk _as a thick maroon sweater impacted with someone's copy of _Defensive Magical Theory _and knocked it to the floor. "How about Ever-Bashing Boomerangs?"

But Harry didn't answer. He'd dug all the way to the bottom of his trunk, and found something that he'd almost managed to forget until his fingers brushed cool metal. Immediately, his mind flashed back to a letter he'd received months before.

_…And so I leave you the Sword of Gryffindor, which is yours by right. Once, it was a gift from Helga Hufflepuff, who loved your ancestor like a brother. After his death, Hufflepuff placed the sword in the Sorting Hat, to be kept there until a day when it would be needed by one of Gryffindor's descendants. When the sword emerged recently, I knew it was meant for you._

Harry lifted the silver blade with careful hands, staring at it. The sword was almost twinkling in the dim light; it seemed to be calling to him, asking to go. For a long moment, Harry stared at the ruby inlaid in the hilt and wondered why, but then it occurred to him that Dumbledore would not have left him such a gift without a good reason. Perhaps this was the day he'd find out why.

"Harry?" Ron finally broke through to him, and he turned, sword still in hand.

"Yeah?"

"We've got to go, mate."

Harry nodded, and the two ran down the stairs together, each carrying an invisibility cloak. Ron clutched the sack of Dungbombs in his left hand, and Harry had the sword in his right. They reached the bottom of the stairs just as the shouting started.

"Some of them went in here!"

"Open now, foolish portrait, or be destroyed!"

"But I must have the password!" the Fat Lady objected, her voice high with fear.

"Don't test me," one of the Death Eaters growled. It sounded like Flint, the Death Eater who'd already tried to kill Harry once, and despite himself, the boy shivered.

Fred and George came down one set of stairs at almost the exact same time Ginny and Hermione came down the others. Ginny was wearing her glasses, and Hermione had a strange chain around her neck. "We're cooked," Fred said immediately upon hearing the shouting outside the portrait hole.

"Fried," his twin supplied.

"Sautéed."

"Fred! George!" Hermione snapped angrily. "We have to figure out a way out!"

"We could get our broomsticks," Harry suggested tentatively. "Between the six of us, we've got four, and…" He trailed off as Hermione started to turn green.

"No."

"No broomsticks."

"They're not—"

"—necessary, after all."

The twins were at it again, and the others all turned to glare as the Fat Lady screamed. Ginny reddened with anger, making a rude gesture at the door.

"Barbarians," she muttered under her breath. "Can't even—"

_Crack._

_Splinter._

_Crash._

The portrait hole was caving in.

Hermione went white. "Any ideas?"

"Fred, would you like to do the honors?" George asked, turning to his twin.

"Oh, I should be delighted, brother mine," Fred replied, pulling a tattered piece of parchment out of his pocket. With a flourish, he tore one corner away. And waited.

"Will you two _stop that?_" Ron shouted. "We're inches away from dying, and you—"

"Oh. Wow," Ginny whispered. A door had suddenly appeared right in front of Fred where there had been nothing but air and carpet before. _Weird, _Harry managed to think through his shock. Hogwarts tended to stretch the limits of the imagination, but even for Hogwarts…this was strange. "What did you do?"

"Tell you later," Fred replied with a tight smile, stepping aside so George could open the door. "Let's get out of here."

_Crash._

_Splatter._

The portrait hole gave way, and four Death Eaters spilled into the room.

"There they are!" Flint yelled.

"Take them alive!" another added.

"Oh, shit!" Ron swore, dodging a curse.

"Look out, Ron!" Hermione grabbed one of his arms and dragged him backwards, barely causing another curse to fly over his head. "Stay down!"

"Come on!" Ginny shouted, already diving through the door on George's heels. Harry bolted after her, his arms too full of sword and Invisibility Cloak to draw his wand. Fred was shouting for Ron and Hermione to hurry up.

"Throw the Dungbombs, you idiot!" Hermione screamed in his ear.

"What—oh. Yeah." An underhanded lob sent the mess flying right into Flint's face. A second later, the sack exploded, and a horrible stench filled the Gryffindor common room, making everyone gag.

Fred shoved Ron and Hermione through the door on Harry's heels, and slammed it shut behind himself. Immediately, the door disappeared, leaving only a wall in its place. Ahead of the Misfits lay a long corridor, lit only by lanterns spaced about ten feet apart along its length.

"Where are we?" Ginny whispered.

"The Room of Requirement," George explained. "We discovered it running from Filch our first year, but didn't know what it was called until Dumbledore sent us that." Fred held up the parchment. "It calls the room, no matter where you are in Hogwarts."

"Amazing," Hermione breathed, picking herself up off of the floor, where she'd landed in a tangle with Ron.

"No time for admiration," Fred put in. "Let's move."

"Can they get in?" Harry asked.

"I don't think so," Fred replied. "But let's not find out, all right? Time to go. George, if you would?"

"Gladly." Lighting off the tip of his wand, George led the way down the passage, followed closely by Ginny, who was looking left and right through her glasses, concentrating on everything. Harry kept a good grip on Gryffindor's sword and the Invisibility Cloak, and followed, confident that the others were close behind. _I really hope this takes us out of the castle, _he thought to himself. _But anything _is _better than there.

* * *

_

They emerged in the courtyard, tentative and frightened. George tried to step out of the passageway alone, just to take a look around, but the moment he opened the door, the Room of Requirement disappeared around them. Suddenly, the Misfits were right in the middle of the broad courtyard—and right in the middle of the fight.

Dementors were everywhere, and people were screaming. Professor Flitwick's voice rang out above most of the racket as he shouted for the Ravenclaws to get back, to come _this _way—but it was of little use. On the other side of the courtyard, Professor Sprout was screaming at Cedric Diggory to come back, but he kept edging towards the fray. A group of four or five students had been caught between a group of Death Eaters and a clump of Dementors. Foolishly, they fled as the Death Eaters cursed them, laughing all the while. Even as Harry watched, Marietta Edgecombe stumbled, and—

_"Reducto!"_It sounded like Narcissa Malfoy's voice, and Marietta had no chance. The girl crumbled the moment that the curse hit, and Harry heard a scream.

"Marietta!" Cho Chang rushed forward out of the cluster of Ravenclaws near Professor Flitwick, sprinting for her friend's side—only to be caught in a flying tackle by Cedric Diggory.

"You can't!" Harry heard him shouting in the distance. "You can't do anything!"

"No!" Cho howled.

"Get back here!" Sprout shouted.

"Look out!" Flitwick added, and the pair dove to the ground as a rainbow of curses criss-crossed over their heads.

"Let's go while they're distracted," George hissed, and the Misfits started inching forward, so far unnoticed by both Dementors and Death Eaters. The main gate was wide open, now, torn off its hinges by some giant force, and it wasn't far away—

Another scream, and then another. Screeching from too many voices to keep count of them—the Dementors had closed in on the small group of Ravenclaws, and Harry watched in horror as gray hands reached out for them. He couldn't recognize faces, not from this far away, but he thought he saw four or five of them. Cho and Cedric were running again.

"Come on, Harry!" Hermione grabbed his arm, goading him forward, and Harry saw why. Dementors were headed in their direction. At the same time, Ron swore:

"Oh, bloody hell. Here they come!"

"Hurry up!" Ginny was leading the way, her wand out and face serious.

Several Slytherins emerged from the castle just then, and Harry thought he heard Draco Malfoy's voice: "Run, Gryffindors, run!"

Laughter drifted over to the Misfits, and they ran harder. Harry didn't turn around in time to see Vincent Crabbe wander too close to a Dementor and be kissed, or to see Megan Jones struck by Flint's Cruciatus Curse and go down screaming, to be kept under the curse until she died. Those, however, were only a handful of casualties, a statistic of war. Students were running in every direction, Kingsley Shacklebolt lay bleeding on the ground, and Auriga Sinistra was dodging curses with unexpected agility as she ran to his side.

The Misfits, however, did not dare look back. They could only run, panting and sweating, for the main gate, jumping over rubble and at least one dead body along the way. The gate loomed closer and closer, until finally they were through and into the forest beyond.

The screams began seconds after they reached the Forbidden Forest.

* * *

The owl landed on James' desk shortly after Sirius gave the watch back. All three of the office's occupants were stumped; they knew there was trouble, but did not know where from. The recent report from Avalon had not helped much, either—it also indicated that something was wrong, but no one knew _what_. Dark skies swirling over the Isle of Light, however, told them how bad it was.

And now the owl, brown feathered and rather plain. Ordinary. A Hogwarts owl.

James felt his heart constrict, and his eyes widen.

"No," Lily whispered.

"Shit." Sirius started to stand, then waited for James to open the letter. He was reading over James' shoulder by the time the Minister of Magic broke the seal.

It was from Remus.

**_James,_**

**_By the time you receive this, it will be too late. We will have fought, but we will lose. I know that as I have known nothing else before—as horrible as it sounds, there is no other outcome. _**

**_Hogwarts will be taken soon. Do what you can to save the children; work with Severus. I know he will have done his best. If he loves nothing else in this world, he loves Hogwarts. He'll not let the students die, or Hogwarts crumble to dust._**

**_I wish there was time for more._**

**_Remus._**

"I'll leave right now." Sirius headed for the door, but James stopped him, somehow managing to speak through the heavy feeling in his chest.

"No." He had to swallow. "If Remus is right, there's nothing we can do." Merlin, it hurt to say that. "Let me call an emergency meeting. We'll figure out where to go from there."

"I…" Sirius trailed off, looking torn.

"I know." James swallowed back the tears that wanted to rise. "But it won't take long. I promise."

The Other Author's Note: And the attack moves forward. Look for PD11: The Wrong Remedy before Friday, when I get underway for a week. The chapter is already done and in editing right now.

In other news, if you haven't checked out the new webpage for the UU, go to and check it out. There's a lot of multimedia there, and a lot of fun.

As always, thanks for reading, and please let me know what you think!


	12. Chapter 11: The Wrong Remedy

**Promises Defended **

**

* * *

**

_Chapter Eleven: The Wrong Remedy_

* * *

Padma was clutching Michael Corner with all her strength, but the younger boy was shaking, too. They'd gotten separated from the other Ravenclaws—somehow—and Penelope had no idea where Professor Flitwick and the others had gone. She wasn't tall enough to see over the fray (she'd always been shorter than _everyone _else, even if she was the oldest in this group, and a prefect to boot), and there were black shadows approaching.

"We're all going to die," Zacharias Smith said in an empty voice, staring glassy-eyed at the battle raging around them. So far, the Death Eaters had mostly been stunning students, and they'd gone unnoticed when the four of them had hunkered down against the castle wall and tried their hardest to blend in to the cold stone.

Until now. Dementors had spotted them, but there was no where to go.

"We are _not _going to die," Penelope told him as firmly as she could, squeaking. "Professor Flitwick will be here in a moment and—"

"Will you wake _up_, Clearwater?" Zacharias demanded shrilly. "No one's going to save us! No one's coming! We're all by ourselves and the teachers are dying and—"

"Shut up!" Michael yelled back just as Padma screamed.

"They're coming!"

"Come on!" Penelope grabbed the younger girl's arm, her heart pounding so loudly that she was certain the Dementors heard it from forty feet away. At least there was so much chaos on the battlefield that the creatures' affects were a bit muted—

_"They're dead, Penny," he whispered, his voice breaking. "They're dead and every-everything's _gone_…"_

"No," she whispered to herself. "I will _not _do this to myself. Not now. Not _now_."

"Penelope?" Padma whispered, so pale that she looked more like a ghost than anything else.

"This way," she replied resolutely, moving right along the wall. It was closer to the center of the battle, but the Dementors seemed to be drifting to the left, interested in something that was that direction, and besides, the Gryffindors had gone this way. Their small group—three Ravenclaws and a misplaced Hufflepuff—stumbled through a mess of thick gray smoke, coughing and struggling to find their way. Penelope clung to the castle wall for support, praying that it would guide her and her hapless charges to some place other than death—any place other than death. Right now, even captivity was starting to sound safer…someone screamed, not far away, and was cut off abruptly by a Killing Curse.

She kept moving forward, blinking and trying to _make _her eyes see through the smoke. Padma clung to her with both hands, instead of holding her wand like she should have been. Had she lost it? Penelope hadn't lost hers; she clutched it in a sweaty palm, and her fingers kept slipping. But she had to keep it steady. The Gryffindors would be right ahead, not far now. Maybe Professor Tonks might be there, and he could do something—or maybe Percy—

"Thomas! Finnegan! Get back here!"

At first, she thought she was imagining things. At first she thought she might be dead and hallucinating, but it was his voice.

"Percy!" Penelope screeched, not loud enough to be heard over the other screams.

They kept stumbling into the smoke, but just as she drew in a deep breath to shout again, Michael's distant voice floated up to her. "Where'd Zacharias go?"

"What?" Padma gasped. "What do you mean—"

"Keep moving," Michael coughed. "Penelope, are we—"

Another voice cut him off from not very far away. "Dean, look out!"

"Seamus!"

"Thomas, get out of there!" Percy again.

"Percy!" Penelope shouted desperately.

"Dean! Dean!"

An earsplitting shriek came from so close that Penelope jumped, straight into the wall. She bounced off, then was suddenly free of the smoke.

"Percy!"

"Finnegan, get back here!"

"NO!"

"Finnegan!" Percy shouted again, struggling past _Zacharias_ to reach the other boy.

He was shaking the still one, the one she didn't know. "Dean!"

"Percy!" she shouted his name again, able to see him for the first time. He was so close—almost an arm's reach away—and Zacharias had almost swept Percy off his feet as he ran by, desperate and frightened…straight into the arms of a Dementor. Percy and the Gryffindor second year, Finnegan, dove aside.

"Penelope!"

"Percy!" She dragged Padma forward, confident that Michael would follow—then Padma screamed, shivering madly against her.

"Run!" Michael shouted just as Percy bound forward. Penelope didn't dare look back.

"Go, Finnegan! He's dead!"

"But—"

"_Go!" _Percy shoved the boy, who stumbled, then cast one last look at his friend before sprinting away. Even the wind could not erase the tears on his face.

Percy grabbed her arm roughly, looking filthy and exhausted, but never so alive. His brown eyes were aglow. "Come on! We don't have any time to spare!"

"Oh my God. Penelope, they're _coming_—" Padma shrieked in her ear.

Cold wind on the back of her neck.

"_Come on!" _Percy bellowed, pulling them both forward with more strength than she'd thought he possessed. In fact, Percy's motion sent Penelope stumbling into him, and for a moment they were face to face, closer than they'd ever been except when kissing. A part of her wanted to smile at the thought, but an uncontrollable shiver immediately stole the urge away.

Padma screamed again, and Percy jerked away. As one, the three of them jumped forward, trying to run but tripping over each other. Penelope couldn't stop shivering, and Percy was unnaturally pale—there was an empty rattling sound right behind them, and Penelope risked a glance over her shoulder.

Michael was gone. In his place floated a Dementor, faceless and _reaching_.

"Run!" One of them said it. Penelope would never remember who.

They started forward, but not fast enough. One moment, Padma was gripping Penelope's arm and the next she was gone, screaming. "Penelope!"

_"Expecto—_argh!"

A dead or unconscious body flew backwards into Percy's legs, making him stumble into Penelope's arms. It was Andrea Owen, one of the Hufflepuff prefects, her mind reported dully, suddenly working slowly. Like it was frozen. When she looked back, Padma was gone. Not dead. Not anywhere. Just gone. "Padma? _Padma!"_

Percy caught his balance and tried to make her turn away, but Penelope couldn't. "PADMA!"

There she was. Penelope almost sagged in relief, because the Dementor was holding her so gently that it _couldn't _mean to hurt her—Percy shoved her forward.

"Run! Go and don't look back!"

Two more Dementors, and Padma was on the ground now, motionless and looking so peaceful…Percy's strong push almost knocked her off of her feet, but he wasn't moving with her.

"What are you—?"

"Just go!"

What else could she do? Penelope ran, still feeling frozen.

And then Percy pushed past her. And then Percy was gone. She thought she heard him try another spell, but it was drowned out by a scream. His scream? Penelope didn't dare look back. Percy was gone.

* * *

It was already all over the papers. Nine copies of a special edition of the _Daily Prophet _dropped on the conference table even as James rolled into the room with a barely controllable Sirius at his side. _It's started already._

_ January 13, 1993_

**HOGWARTS ATTACKED!**

_By _Charles Li_, Special Correspondent_

Breaking news leaked from the Ministry of Magic reveals that

there has been yet another attack on Hogwarts School of

Witchcraft and Wizardry. Details are scarce at this time, but

rumors of an emergency Ministry meeting can not be ignored.

Nor can this latest in a series of attempts by Dark Wizards to

take Britain's school of magic.

The first Hogwarts attack came on October 31, 1984, causing

little damage to the school but serious injuries to both the late

Albus Dumbledore (then Headmaster of the school) and He-

Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.

The second followed on January 11, 1992, through the giant

allies of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. No students or teachers

were harmed in the attack, but several giants were injured, and

one might have even died. A year and two days later, the details

are still fuzzy, but fewer giants are aiding He-Who-Must-Not-Be-

Named's cause than ever.

The third attack occurred less than five months ago, on

September 15, 1992, causing no damage to the school and with

a surprising victory by current Headmaster Remus Lupin. In

September, the Death Eaters retreated after offering what

amounted to ineffectual resistance.

Rumors hint, however, that this attack is different. No one knows

how or why, but confidential sources near supporters of He-Who-

Must-Not-Be-Named hint that today will bring the end of

Hogwarts as we know it—and the death of Headmaster Remus

Lupin.

_**(Turn to pages 6, 9, and 17 for information and statistics on past**_

_**Hogwarts attacks.)**_

The article said nothing that James did not know, yet it still made his stomach turn. He couldn't stop staring at the front page, yet he knew that he had to. He could not afford to freeze. Not now. _We'd know if Remus was dead. _He swallowed hard, tried to tear his eyes away from the newspaper. _Wouldn't we?_ James shook his head numbly, trying to force the thoughts away, but the gnawing worry in his stomach would not leave. He needed to be confident, needed to be strong, needed to speak and start _acting_—because action was always better than inaction, and they couldn't afford to wait—but he could only stare.

A hand landed on his shoulder, squeezed. James looked up, and Sirius met his eyes briefly before letting go and moving to his seat. For the moment, though, it was enough.

"Thank you all for arriving so quickly," James managed, trying not to sound awkward or concerned and knowing that he was failing miserably. A lopsided and edgy smile was the best he could do. "By now—as I'm sure you've all read—you all know. Hogwarts is under attack."

"You said as much in your summons," Fudge replied politely. At least his tone was polite; Sirius glared daggers at him over the table.

"So I did." Taking a deep breath, James withdrew Remus' note from his pocket, clearing his throat. "I received this letter about an hour ago, from Remus…Remus Lupin." His voice did not want to stay steady. James sucked in another deep breath. "He told me of the attack. And…he said that Hogwarts will fall."

"What?" Seven voices demanded together. Sirius' dark eyes just watched the others, silent and still.

James nodded. "I don't know if it's happened yet. But he's…in the position to know. We ought to know soon."

"And what makes you say that?" Paden Patil demanded archly. He'd replaced Marcy Basil as the Minister for Magical Transportation, but he didn't support James nearly as much as his captured superior once had. Of course, he was also worried about his nieces and the stress lines showed on his face, but his politics were what worried James at the moment.

"I'm sure Voldemort won't keep it a secret," James replied, grimacing at the very thought. But it was true.

"Oh, _are_ you?" Fudge asked sweetly, then muttered under his breath: "I wonder why."

"Watch yourself, Fudge." Surprisingly, it was Peter who growled the words, looking angrier than James ever remembered him being. His features were sharp and his face pale; it made his blond hair look whiter than ever before, and Peter seemed older, somehow. Less chubby and innocent.

Then again, Peter hadn't been that chubby for many years, and today he was harder than ever.

"Are you threatening me, Pettigrew?" the other laughed back. Patil, Adams, and Bode laughed with him; Diggory just looked sick.

"No. Just warning you."

Fudge snorted. "Indeed."

"That's enough," Arthur intervened from James' right. "We're here to act, not to fight out petty feuds. And the sooner we act, the more chance of success we have. If we can get Aurors to Hogwarts before it's too late—"

"Out of the question," Fudge interjected immediately, just as Sirius whispered something under his breath. However, James did not have time to ask him what before Arthur gaped at Fudge.

"What did you say?"

"I said that sending Aurors is out of the question," Fudge replied evenly, then swung immediately to look at Sirius. "How many active Aurors do we have at the moment?"

The blue eyes darkened, and Sirius replied through gritted teeth, "Enough."

"The precise number, if you please."

"Twenty-six," Sirius said in _very _precise tones, glaring at Fudge. "However, our alliance with the French—"

"Oh, we couldn't possibly expect the French to rescue a _British _school," Fudge cut in. He shot James a brief but dazzling smile. "After all, we didn't exactly help them at Laçenne, did we?"

Shocked, James opened his mouth to reply. He never got the chance as Fudge changed tactics, studying Sirius once again.

"Tell me, how many Aurors is normal for a _peacetime _force?" he asked next.

Sirius sighed. "At least one hundred and fifty."

"And wartime?"

"We started the war with two hundred, and expanded to almost three hundred within the first four years," Sirius responded emotionlessly. "But I see where you're going. It won't work."

"What won't work?" Fudge inquired innocently.

"Twenty-six is more than enough to do the job, if that's what you're worried about. No matter how many Death Eaters Voldemort has in Hogwarts, we'll oust them—especially if we move fast. The faster we move, the more help the professors can offer…and the more kids we'll save."

"And if it's another trap?" The other cocked his head quizzically. "Like the Riddle House, perhaps?"

James finally found his voice. "Aurors don't get fooled by the same trick twice," he growled.

"I didn't say it would be the same one. _Minister._"

James glared.

"Regardless of what might happen, we need to act _now_," Arthur said forcefully. "We can't just sit here and do _nothing_—"

"Of course you think not, Arthur. You've got…how many children at Hogwarts?"

"Five." Now it was Arthur's turn to glare.

"I understand that you're worried about their safety," Fudge replied earnestly. "And you are certainly not the only one—Amos' son is still there, and Paden's nieces are, too. But acting is _not _the way to save them."

"What _is_, then?" James demanded. _My son is there, too, you ass. I noticed that you omitted that_ _on purpose._

"Negotiation."

"What?" This time, Diggory, Patil, Arthur, and Sirius joined James' shocked exclamation.

"Don't you see it? We must wait!" Fudge looked around the table, turning glowing and sympathetic eyes on each minister in turn. "I, of all people, do not want to see Hogwarts in You-Know-Who's hands, but rushing in will only get people killed! We _cannot _afford another Riddle House Raid. It would kill us."

"You're crazy if you think that would happen again," Sirius growled.

"And if you lose another eight Aurors?" Fudge demanded. "That would give us what, twenty? My what a fine fighting force that would be!"

"And how many children might we save in exchange for eight lives?" Sirius demanded in return, fire entering his eyes for the first time in recent memory. "It's cold and cruel math, but the results are worth the risks, no matter how you look at it."

"I'm afraid, Mr. Black, that you're wrong about that," Fudge said sadly. "How many more would die because those eight Aurors did not live? Again, it's cruel _statistics, _but we need every Auror we have."

"We won't lose eight Aurors."

"So you say. But you didn't expect the Riddle House Raid, either." The sad look of pity was more than James could take.

"Now see here—!" he started furiously, wishing he could rise out of his chair and tower over Fudge. For a moment, his legs even seemed to respond—he levered slightly out of the seat and teetered between half-upright and sitting—and James stopped speaking in his shock. A split second later, he crashed back into the chair again with everyone staring at him.

"I understand your concern, James," Fudge interjected smoothly. "But the children will be safer if we do not act. After all, who wants to put their children in the middle of a battle?"

A few people muttered, and—_oh, Merlin, no—_they sounded as if they agreed.

"Tell that to the children in Azkaban," Sirius said darkly, earning glares from the others, the sharpest of which was from Amos Diggory. Immediately, James had to bite back the urge to yell at Diggory; his son was there!

_Worry and pain, James. Worry and pain._ The voice sounded almost like Dumbledore's, patient and kind. Patient and wise.

_I don't have that wisdom right now, Albus. I _can't._ Not right now._

"At least they're alive," Bode said quietly. "We know that much."

"Surviving is different from living in that place," Peter interjected before Sirius could speak. A moment of silent communication passed between those two as James watched, with Sirius thanking Peter for saying what he could not.

"Even so, they're alive. _Live _children can be rescued," Diggory said nervously. "Children in battle get hit by stray curses. They can get caught in the crossfire without anyone meaning—" He cut off abruptly, struggling for self control. "Children have no place in war."

"That's why they need rescuing. _Now._" James tried to use his eyes to break through Diggory's nervous depression, but the other's expression did not change.

"But what if they fail? We have to look out for more than just our own children…" Diggory swallowed hard.

"There are more than _our _children there," Arthur pointed out.

"Yes, but—"

"But if more Aurors die, we doom our world, and our responsibility as a government is greater than our responsibility to our families." Fudge glanced at Diggory. "Is that what you were trying to say, Amos?"

Diggory looked miserable. "Yes."

"Don't you see it, James?" Fudge asked earnestly. "We can't afford to take the risk. Even if one Auror dies, it's too many, and if the wrong Auror…" He trailed off meaningfully, glancing at Sirius.

"One man does not make or break the world," came the immediate reply, but even James could see he was uncomfortable saying it. Oh, yes. They _all _knew what Sirius was.

"You're too modest, my friend."

Again, the growl. "I'm not your friend."

"Pity." Fudge turned to the others pleadingly. "Please don't let me be the only voice of reason here. We cannot be swayed by emotion. We must make the _right _choice—"

"Right for whom?" James snapped. Fudge smiled sadly.

"Why, for all of our world," he replied. "For all the people we serve and protect."

"You're crazy," Arthur grated. "You can't possibly think that waiting will solve anything. What are you trying to do, Fudge? And at what cost?"

"I'm trying to do the right thing, Arthur. I'm sorry that you can't see that."

"We've argued enough," Nathaniel Adams interceded before anyone could reply, speaking for the first time. Too late, James finally saw the pieces slide into place. "Let's put this to the vote. Minister?"

James nodded hollowly. His mouth was suddenly dry. "All in favor of sending Aurors to Hogwarts."

Sirius, Peter, and Arthur. That was it. Stormclouds crossed Diggory's face, but he did not vote.

James wanted to cry, but he kept his voice level. "All against."

Fudge. Patil. Adams. Diggory, frowning.

Bode abstained, shaking his head.

The room fell silent for a long moment as Fudge tried too obviously not to beam in triumph and James struggled to keep his composure. First Remus, and now Harry… He'd never imagined not being able to act. Not being able to rescue his _son_ and the other children of Hogwarts… _What have we come to?_ Swallowing hard did not make him feel better at all.

Part of him contemplated just doing it anyway. Turning to Sirius and telling him to hell with the Ministry's decision, they were going to do it anyway. Legally, he could probably get away with doing so, even if it would be political suicide. What did he care about power, about politics? He hadn't wanted this job in the first place, anyway. So what if he threw it away. He'd probably sleep better at night… Or not. Inappropriately, Fudge's words echoed in James' mind: _"For all the people we serve and protect."_

And dammit if he didn't have a responsibility to the world, too.

"I won't stand for this." Sirius rose abruptly. "I will not be a part of this…disaster."

He strode for the door and did not look back.

James couldn't blame him, but he wished, later, that Sirius could have seen Fudge's satisfied half-smirk. If so, they might have understood sooner.

"He can't do that!" Adams objected. "He can't go against us."

"Don't worry," Fudge replied easily. "He'll be back."

* * *

The Great Hall had been cleared of childish rubble, and the tables had been pushed to the sides. It looked far more _formal_ than ever before…but somehow empty. The sky in the ceiling was still angry with the storm, and Severus could feel the school around him thrumming with angry power.

A single chair stood on the dais where the head table had previously been; where the table was now, Severus did not know. Nor did it really matter. Voldemort dominated his new throne simply by standing beside it.

His arms stretched wide. "Hogwarts…" he purred aloud as Death Eaters surrounded him, still reveling in the victory. They had plenty of trophies; most lined the walls, chained to the tables at which their students had once sat. "Mine.

"Finally."

The word came as a reverent whisper, and Severus did not even think that the Dark Lord realized he spoke aloud. At any rate, he was sure that Voldemort did not care. He was too busy luxuriating in his new world.

To Severus' right, Vector moaned slightly, beginning to wake. Snape could not afford to spare her a glance, close as she was. Appearances had to be maintained. She'd been the first of the professors to fall, stunned in the back by her own students. Severus snorted quietly to himself.

Those same students had now joined their parents in the Great Hall, strutting proudly and arrogantly, acting as if _they'd _won the battle. _Cocksure little traitorous brats._

He couldn't help Vector a bit, couldn't even help her die without pain—but he could offer her this one mercy. His wand came up silently, and the word was hissed under his breath. _"Stupefy."_

Immediately, she lapsed back into unconsciousness. A quick glance around told Severus that no one had noticed. Anyway, if anyone asked he'd reply that she had no right to witness this victorious moment, blood traitor that she was. And those words would be more true than even Severus Snape would like to admit; Vector had been two years ahead of him, a "good" Slytherin. She'd never indulged in their cruel sport or bigotry. She'd just been quietly confident and very sure of what she was. His inner smile was as twisted as the outer one. _Maybe that will help her now, _he thought darkly. _Because nothing else will._

"Severus," the voice called, and he stepped forward, bowing.

"My Lord?"

"We have you to thank for this fine occasion," his Lord said magnanimously, seating himself on the throne. "Come stand with me."

Silently, he did so, moving to Voldemort's right—oh, how Bellatrix glared at him! But he was invited, and she could do nothing about it. He stopped at the bottom edge of the dais, careful not to even appearto be placing himself on the Dark Lord's level. It was a practiced skill that new Death Eaters always had problems with: graceful deference. Even Lucius had never quite managed to perfect it; he hated subservience in all forms, and was too arrogant to act the part well. Bella, on the other hand, never even bothered. She was too obsessively loyal to be graceful about anything.

"You stopped the werewolf, old friend." His Lord bestowed a smile. "What reward would you like?"

"Nothing but to serve, Master." After all, it wasn't like he could ask for Remus' life.

The high-pitched laugh was quiet tonight, almost playful. He _was _happy. "But the Dark Lord does not forget those he promises to reward, Severus," Voldemort replied lightly. "Think upon it, and ask when you will."

"I shall, Master. I thank you for your foresight." _Will it save my life when you discover that I've not been loyal for thirteen years?_ A part of him wanted to laugh out loud, but that was the sarcastic side that he showed his students. The petty and cruel Snape had no place here.

"You did not kill him, of course?" The fact that he offered rewards before asking this question said an awful lot about Voldemort—probably the only thing that Severus still admired about him. The man had honor…in his own twisted way.

"No, My Lord. He is unconscious only." _With some serious silver poisoning by now. I do wish you'd get on with it._

_Do I?_

But there was no avoiding it. Not any of it. Not Shacklebolt on the table opposite of Vector, or Trelawney further back. The miracle of it was that not a single student had been taken—too many had died, yes, but none had been taken...or, at least none who did not want to stay. The others had been led to escape by their professors, by people they had every reason to trust.

_Just like they almost trusted me._ He fought back the urge to swallow.

"Bella…" Voldemort's voice broke through the darker thoughts, and Snape stilled his mind. "Bring me the werewolf."

She glowed. "Gladly, Master."

* * *

He Apparated to the edge of the Forbidden Forest, all but shaking in rage. He hadn't even taken the time to go to Avalon before coming straight here; instead, he'd scribbled a quick note to Alice and thrown it in the fire. It'd find her soon enough, and Alice knew what to do. There were children in danger.

Matter of fact, Sirius could hear them crashing through the Forest, far away but growing closer. His entire body tried to sag in relief. At least some of them had escaped, and that would make his job much easier.

Of course, he wasn't planning on blatantly defying the Ministry—yet. Doing so would only cause James trouble, and would break apart any chance they had of changing minds and getting Remus out. No, what Sirius was doing was reconnaissance, nothing more. Before, he hadn't been sure if he could stop himself from doing something foolish if there were children still in there, but if Remus had managed to evacuate them first… _Don't think of Remus. You can't afford to. Not yet. _He had to concentrate, had to stay cold and cool. _Business. Keep your mind on business._ Why was it that he had to feel so damned much now?

Deep breath. Resolutely, Sirius stepped forward, heading towards the children and hoping they were all safe.

Something lurked at the edge of his mind as he did so, but he could not afford to look. Somehow, Sirius knew that it would break his heart.

* * *

The Lestranges dumped Remus at Voldemort's feet without ceremony, manhandling his body in the same manner they threw corpses around. Then again, that was probably how Bella and Rodolphus viewed Remus: as a future corpse. Voldemort would not let him live longer than necessary. Once Remus cracked enough to reveal the mystery of his bond with Hogwarts, he would die.

_Don't think of that, Severus. It won't help._

Both Lestranges bowed and stepped aside, smiling with anticipation. Snape wanted to be sick, but Voldemort only studied the headmaster. Several long moments passed before the Dark Lord smiled.

"Let's wake him, shall we?" Voldemort asked, his eyes dancing dangerously. He leveled his wand at the prone form.

_"Crucio!"

* * *

_

Blood was getting in his eyes, and he didn't know why. Maybe he'd hit his head back there. Maybe he didn't care.

They could hear the screams from the forest.

The Misfits lagged behind what they thought was the largest group of Gryffindors. More than once, George claimed to have heard Professor Tonks' voice; at one point, Hermione had even thought she heard Percy shouting at someone to keep up. At any rate, they were crashing through the trees as fast as they could move, conscious of the fact that there very well could be Death Eaters following them, and not daring to turn back and look.

Hermione tripped over something and fell immediately; Ron swore and almost managed to jump over her prone form. For the second time that day, the two of them landed in a heap, grumbling and yelping in turn.

"Get off me, Ron!" Hermione snapped.

"Sorry! It's not like I _meant _to trip over you. If you hadn't gone and fallen over, I wouldn't have—"

"Well, if you had enough sense not to follow me so _closely_, that wouldn't have happened, would it?" she retorted angrily, struggling out from under him.

"You think this is my fault?" Ron demanded.

"Enough!" George yanked Ron to his feet while Fred grabbed Hermione, adding:

"You two can argue later! We've got to go!"

Both flushed red with embarrassment as Ginny twisted around to look over one shoulder. Ron mumbled, "Sorry," half under his breath.

Hermione just glared. "I'm sure they've stopped chasing us by now."

"Yeah, but we can't be too careful," George replied.

"And everyone else is still running," Fred pointed out.

"We'd better keep going," Harry finally said, wishing that he could agree with Hermione. They were all tired, and Hermione was probably the most tired of all—she didn't play Quidditch (or any sports really) and wasn't used to running around for hours. At least it felt like hours, and the damn sword was getting heavy.

Hermione sighed heavily, and Harry wished they could do something. They'd hardly been back at school for ten days, and this had started…but waiting could only get them killed.

"Let's go," Hermione finally said, turning to crash through the underbrush again. They'd not made it a dozen steps before Ginny suddenly twisted around again.

"They are coming," she said, and everyone whipped around to face her. She was wearing Dumbledore's glasses again.

"Damn," Ron swore, and they ran faster.

* * *

* * *

The Other Author's Note: I promised that I'd post before getting underway on Friday, so here's the new chapter. Stay tuned for Chapter 12: Love and Friendship, and please let me know what you think!


	13. Chapter 12: Love and Friendship

**Promises Defended

* * *

**

_Chapter Twelve: Love and Friendship_

* * *

"Look out!" Ginny screeched three seconds before the shadows swept down upon them.

George was still in the lead, still bleeding from where a tree had all but fallen on him earlier (why it had fallen, they hadn't bothered to check. There hadn't been time). At any rate, the Dementor came flying out of nowhere to embrace George and pull him close.

"George!" Fred leapt forward immediately, almost into the arms of another Dementor. Hermione and Ron dragged him back as George shivered and wilted, and Harry stood frozen.

The Dementor seemed to be luxuriating in George's sudden inability to fight, and the other was watching Fred in particular, drifting back and forth as if savoring the anticipation. Ron and Hermione struggled to hold Fred back as he fought mindlessly to reach his twin. Ginny jumped into the fray, adding her weight to theirs as tears streaked down her face. Yet Harry could not move.

"George!" Fred howled.

"Fred, don't!" Hermione shrieked.

"Hold him!" Ron snarled.

Ginny grunted as Fred's elbow landed in her nose. "Don't let him—"

_"George!" _

The Invisibility Cloak fell lifelessly from Harry's clammy hands; not until something _clinked _to the ground next to it did he realize that he'd dropped Gryffindor's sword as well. Until that moment, Harry didn't even remember _carrying _Gryffindor's sword, but there it was, lying half on top of a root and shining in the faint forest light. The ruby-encrusted hilt glimmered up at him like a pair of kind red eyes, flashing in and out of focus with every beat of his heart. Heart.

_"Use the sword well, Harry. Always remember that it was a gift of love and friendship. When all else fails except those two feelings, recall that fact: the Sword of Gryffindor will best serve those who are pure of motive and strong in heart…"_

Dumbledore's letter. The rest of Dumbledore's words to him had talked about Godric Gryffindor's sword. Harry had barely read the words at the time; he'd been too busy staring at the beautifully worked blade and wondering why he, of all people, had the right to carry Godric Gryffindor's sword.

_"…it was a gift from Helga Hufflepuff, who loved your ancestor like a brother."_

George had started struggling against the Dementor. It wasn't holding him so tightly now; like the second, it was staring at the twins with curiosity. Had they never encountered identical twins before? Did they feel something different about them?

"No…" Fred moaned the word. Hermione was crying, too. Ron was gulping and trying hard not to.

_"…it was a gift of love and friendship."_

Love and friendship.

Everything Dementors were not.

_"When all else fails except those two feelings…"_

Harry dove for the sword, forgetting his wand, forgetting whatever spell it was that he'd seen his father use against Dementors. There was another way.

"George!" Fred half-screamed, half-sobbed.

One of the Dementors was pulling George close again, cradling him in its arms lovingly.

_Love and friendship_.

Sword in hand, Harry launched himself at the Dementor holding George. He ignored the other one for the moment, even though he could hear its rattling breaths drawing closer. Still…they sounded different somehow. Harry didn't think it was possible to surprise a Dementor, but he thought that he'd just surprised this one. Distantly, he heard Ron shout his name, but there wasn't time. He only had one shot at this.

Sunlight glinted off the blade as he stabbed forward—Harry didn't dare swing the sword, even though he could have aimed better that way. If he swung, he might hit George, and then they'd both die.

_What if this doesn't work?_

It was too late to wonder about that. The sword stabbed into where the bottom of the Dementor's ribcage would have been, if the Dementor had been a man. But it wasn't.

Somehow, Harry had expected there to be _something_ there. He'd expected meat. Contact. Flesh, blood, bone, and goo. But there was nothing. Nothing at all. It was like stabbing into air, and the force he'd put into the blow threw him off balance. Harry careened into George before he could catch himself, knocking the other free of the Dementor's rotting hands—_what hands?_ They were gone.

Freezing chill on his neck. _So cold…_ "Harry, look out!" Ginny screamed.

He forced himself to turn. Forced the sword up—concentrating on the sword made it easier, somehow. The other Dementor was right in front of him, and George was on the ground behind him. Fred was rushing forward, Ron was shouting, Hermione was trying to hold Ginny and Ron both back, and Harry had never felt so cold. He thought frost was forming on his glasses, clouding them over so he could not see.

The Dementor reached for him. Gray, slimy hands reached for Harry's face, and he couldn't make himself move. He could only stand there and stare as the Dementor leaned forward for the first and last Kiss he'd ever receive.

But the sword was there, and the Dementor did not understand. Could not see it. Could not know. Almost on its own, Godric Gryffindor's sword slid into this Dementor's midsection, silent and smooth. The silvery blade emerged out of the tattered cloak's other side as the ruby in the hilt gleamed. Harry must have blinked, because when his vision cleared, an empty cloak hung off of the blade.

"Harry? Harry!" Hermione's was the first voice to make sense, and he looked up at her blankly. George was clambering to his feet with Fred's help, shaking madly. There was an empty cloak on either side of Harry.

"That was unbelievable," Ron breathed. "What did you do?"

"I didn't…didn't do anything," Harry stuttered. "It was the sword. Love and friendship."

"What?" Ginny echoed.

"It was a gift of love and friendship. When all else fails, love and friendship will…" Harry trailed off and shrugged helplessly. "I'm not doing very well, am I?"

"Not really," Hermione replied helpfully, her tears slowing behind a smile.

"You can explain later, mate," Ron assured him, glancing back. "Right now, I think we'd better go."

"Yeah…"

George coughed but managed to step away from his twin's support. "Thanks, Harry."

He managed a wan smile, suddenly drained. "No problem."

* * *

_"Let's wake him, shall we?" he asked amicably, curiously. It was time indeed—time for answers. He leveled his wand at the prone form, smiling in anticipation. He'd killed werewolves before, but never one like this._

_"Crucio!"_

_Lupin woke as his body arched off the floor, screaming almost immediately. His body was still pale and swollen from the poison, and blood seeped out from underneath his back where Severus had stabbed him. Voldemort held the curse as the Death Eaters laughed, not quite reveling in their approval, but enjoying it nonetheless. _

_Lupin screamed wonderfully._

"No."

Sirius shook himself, staggering away from the tree he'd somehow come to lean on. This wasn't the first time, but never had it been so clear. Never had it been so _now_—he'd been seeing through Voldemort's eyes, looking straight into the dark mass of whatever that the monster called a soul. Sirius shivered, then rubbed his arms vigorously, trying to warm up.

_And they call _me _cold. I'm nothing compared to that. I still care about my friends._

The thought made him swallow, and what he had just seen finally sank in. _Remus!_ Remus was alive, but poisoned by Snape. The bastard. One of these days, he'd twitch just wrong and Sirius would—he forced himself to stop thinking about that. Childhood hatred had no place in this war, and Snape was on their side. Whatever he'd done, he'd done for a reason.

And now Voldemort was torturing Remus. _Remus_. Remus, the pale and lonely little boy who they'd met on the Hogwarts Express, quieter than even Peter, who'd been so frightened that he'd babbled half the trip away. Remus, who'd never thought he'd make friends or be _normal _at all. Remus, who had tried to pretend he wasn't crying when they became Animagi for him. _Not Moony. Anyone but Moony._ Sirius swallowed hard, then discovered that he could still cry.

He was that human, at least. But he wasn't human enough to help his friend. This day he had to be as inhuman as the darkness inside him could allow; he had to _ignore_ and go on. There were others who needed saving, children who Remus had been willing to sacrifice his life to protect. _And I will not dishonor everything he fights for by forgetting what he loves._

Squaring his shoulders, Sirius started walking again. _I'm coming for you, Remus,_ he promised silently. _I've just got to save your students first. _

_

* * *

It was dark now, and they were moving again, listening to crashes at their backs—what __was _that?—and picking each other up when they fell. The other students had to be having as many problems; Hermione could hear their distraught voices up ahead, and could hear Professor Tonks every now and then, encouraging them to keep going. It wasn't much further, now. 

It was dark now, and they were moving again, listening to crashes at their backs—what that?—and picking each other up when they fell. The other students had to be having as many problems; Hermione could hear their distraught voices up ahead, and could hear Professor Tonks every now and then, encouraging them to keep going. It wasn't much further, now. 

Professor Tonks must not have been much of a prankster during his years at Hogwarts, though, because they weren't even halfway through the gigantic forest. In fact, they were closer to a quarter of the way through than half, and there were still within earshot of the castle, if one shouted loud enough.

Or screamed loud enough, just like the Headmaster was doing.

Hermione swallowed hard. It _had _to be the Headmaster, who was always so quiet and so kind. He was the best thing about Hogwarts, so wise and so strong. And now the Death Eaters were torturing him, just like they'd tortured her parents. Tears rose, but she pushed them back. She wouldn't cry again. Emotion had caught her by surprise with George, but she was in control now. It wouldn't win again. The screams were growing louder. _What are they doing to him?_ Hermione had to swallow hard.

Harry was in the lead now, with the Sword of Gryffindor in one hand and his Invisibility Cloak slung over one shoulder. It made him look strange, but that was all right. The Misfits were used to _that_. But Harry was slowing, and it wasn't an illusion made by the cloak. After a few more steps, he stopped. The others followed suit, breathing hard.

Hermione was just glad to see that she wasn't the only one gasping for air.

Slowly, Harry turned to look at them, swallowing and grim faced. Hermione wondered if he knew about the blood seeping from his right temple, but she didn't think so. His words were measured and calm.

"I'm going back."

George's eyes flew wide open. "You're what?" he demanded.

But Hermione understood, even though the thought made her feel cold. They could still hear the screaming just as well as before, even though they were further away now. No one was doing anything except running. No one was doing _anything_, and someone had to. She nodded as firmly as she could manage.

"And we're going with him."

* * *

"Eugène, please try to understand," Peter pleaded, already exhausted and not at all grateful for the time difference between Britain and France; he'd been feeling tired enough before he had to travel to Paris, where it was almost midnight—and it would be well _after _midnight by the time he got home again. Peter fully expected that he wouldn't leave France until tomorrow. He took a deep breath. 

"This is a political decision. A foolish decision, yes, but it's nothing but politics." _A decision you had to find out via _French _Aurors because our Ministry was too chicken to tell you. Myself included._ "Fudge is making his move. That's all."

"But will it _work?_" Eugène demanded.

Peter snorted. "No. Not in this lifetime."

"And what about those children while we play politics, eh?" the French president demanded. "What about them?"

"We've already sent people to find them and bring them to safety," Peter answered, not quite lying. _Sirius _had sent people, and James was busy pretending that he didn't know. It wasn't precisely illegal…but it wasn't exactly _right_, either. _Then again, none of this is._

"Oh?" Eugène retorted. "And how successful will they be?"

"Monsieur Prèsident, please. You know me. I would not lie to you—not on something like this. We'll get them out."

"I hope so, Peter…because if not…" Legarde shook his head. "I would find it very hard to remain allied with a nation that leaves its children to die. It's one thing to talk of high ideals and battling evil, but this—this is more evil than almost anything I have seen in my life."

"We will not leave them," Peter swore. "You have my word on it."

Legarde finally smiled. "That, at least, I know I can trust."

* * *

He awoke again to a haze of muted pain, heard a word and then started screaming again. Remus had known this was coming—had expected the worst, even—but he could not help screaming. A distant, still logical, part of his brain wondered if any human being could. 

Odd that he could think rationally with his nerves exploding with pain. Remus had once made an extensive study of the Cruciatus Curse (during his Hogwarts years illicit knowledge had always been the most interesting), and knew that it acted on nerve endings, using the body's sensitive pain receptors against themselves. He'd even been struck by the curse before; it was hard not to, in battle. But nothing like this.

His body was on fire. His mind wanted to shut down and just _scream _his throat bloody and raw, but something wouldn't let him.

_A voice he knew, rasping and pained._

_"The dark end approaches…" Hacking coughs, words he could not make out. _Pain. His body jerked off of the floor and came down hard; Remus felt blood splash down his chin when he coughed. _"For the choice has been his, and strength does not come from power alone…"_

_His own voice._

_"You must leave this place."_

_Pain on Severus' face._

Distant words, filled with disgust. "He's stopped screaming."

_"...Because you want me to become what you are." Sirius' face was unnaturally calm. The sky, shining through the window behind him, was bright blue._

Laughter. "Is widdle Wemus dying?"

Bellatrix, that. Impossible to mistake.

_Pain on James' face.__ "He's gone."_

_"But he—" Peter cut off, near tears._

"No. He's not." Severus, sounding so cold. Good on him.

"Oh, really? Is this some _potion _you gave him, dear Severus?"

_"Hello, Tom."_

_Red eyes widened._

He was twitching horribly. Remus felt like tiny balls of fire were bubbling up under his skin, rolling on his bones.

"Not I."

Remus wanted to scream. Some irrational part of him was certain that would lessen the pain, would give a release, any release. A greater strength, however, stopped him. In some ways, he was distant from the pain. He felt it, but… But he was not without control.

_I could stand and walk out of here if I wanted to, _Remus realized with a start. Thankfully, the twitching concealed that nicely.

_"…call it the Marauder's Revenge."_

_"You're crazy, Sirius."_

"Well then what _is _it, then?" another voice demanded, and Remus almost laughed._ They can't know, can they? They don't have any idea!_ "He's just _lying _there!"

"Enough, Rodolphus." Smooth and controlled, like the cruel spell he had cast. "Severus is right."

_"Are you mad? Take the offer while you still can!" _

_Tight faced and pale, James shook his head. "No."_

_"This is our only chance!" Fudge screeched. "How many more have to die before—"_

Someone else cast the spell. Rodolphus…Rodolphus what? Oh, yes. Rodolphus Lestrange. Remus remembered him. Too well. _"Crucio!"_

"No change," Lucius Malfoy commented idly. Someone giggled nervously.

Draco?

_"This is it, then. And Merlin save us if they fail."_

Heartbeat.

"No. I did not expect it to."

_I'm coming for you, Remus_. _I've just got to save your students first._

What?

"Cease."

And the curses disappeared, leaving Remus breathing hard on the floor. But he wasn't gasping for air—he'd half-expected to—and the moment he opened his eyes, his vision cleared. Still, his limbs were made of lead and everything hurt. For all his conviction that he could move if he wanted to, Remus had no desire to. Even the wolf knew when to back down.

A shadow fell over his eyes.

"Remus John Lupin," the quiet voice said, speaking each word as if it were a sentence of its own. "Werewolf. Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry." There was a cold smile beneath the intrigued red eyes. "I do not believe I have had the pleasure."

"Tom Marvolo Riddle," Remus replied in the same tone, if a bit hoarsely. "I know who you are."

"Charmed, I am sure," Voldemort replied. He was in high humor today, but then again, he had won. No one, even Remus, had been able to stop him.

_I always knew I'd lose. I just never knew how, or that it would hurt so much._

"You won't get what you want." Best to get that out now, right away.

The Dark Lord laughed silently as Death Eaters chortled. "And what is that? What are you so certain I want from you?"

"Answers," Remus said simply, and watched recognition flash in the red eyes, even though the face's expression did not change.

"And what answers would the world's most powerful wizard want from you, _beast?_" Bellatrix demanded.

"Contain yourself, Bella." A hard edge entered the previously amused voice. Then the shadow shifted suddenly, and Voldemort knelt on Remus' left side, even with his shoulder. A long moment passed in silence; the headmaster just watched.

"You and I both know that I _will _get what I want from you," the Dark Lord said softly. "You are not Sirius Black."

Remus smiled, tasting blood. His split lip stung. "I don't have to be."

* * *

"Bloody—" Ron fell face first into the mud puddle. 

For the first time that evening, someone smiled, and Ginny hauled Ron to his feet with dimples showing in her cheeks. "I thought Mum taught you to clean up after yourself, _Ronald_."

"Ickle Ronnekins," Fred corrected. The response sounded automatic, but at least it was normal. So was Ron's grousing.

"No, she left that to the girl," he shot back, and Ginny giggled. It was a tiny giggle, but still, a laugh was a laugh.

"You are a mess," Hermione commented dismissively, then gestured everyone forward. "Let's keep going. We're getting closer."

But the screams had stopped, and Harry had to swallow. "Yeah," he said quietly. "We are."

_Something is wrong._ The realization hit him suddenly, and a chill ran down Harry's spine. He felt so _off_, so cold all of a sudden. It was as if he'd crossed some invisible temperature barrier between Britain and Antarctica—and then Harry thought of Dementors. He spun around.

"Ginny, do you see any—" She whipped the glasses out before he could finish the sentence.

"Someone's coming!"

"Quick, everyone, _hide_!" Hermione hissed, and the Misfits dove for cover. Caught flat-footed, Harry looked around wildly for a moment, searching for someplace to go, but every good spot was taken. Finally, he ducked behind a tree, hoping that he was hiding from the right direction.

"Harry?" a voice suddenly called.

His heart stopped. _This has _got _to be a trick._ Gryffindor's sword felt sticky against his suddenly dry palms, and Harry fought the urge to wipe the hilt clean. He couldn't let go, couldn't risk some sort of trick. _I bet it's Death Eaters. Or Malfoy. Malfoy would try to sound like him._

"Harry?"

"Psst!" Hermione hissed so softly that he could barely hear her. She was hunkered down underneath a large bush, and Harry had to squint to make her out in the darkness. "Is that—?"

"Shh!" Ron cut her off. "D'you want to _die_?"

"Shut up, Ron!" Ginny and George snapped together, but by then it was too late. The footsteps were growing far closer.

"Harry?" the voice called again, sounding more urgent. "Hermione?"

_Even Malfoy wouldn't dare. _Harry tried to peek around the edge of the tree, but it was too dark and the approaching individual was dressed in black. _Would he?_

_Too tall._

Taking a deep breath, Harry slid his left hand inside his robes and finally pulled his wand loose; the Invisibility Cloak would just have to puddle on the ground for now; he only had two hands and there wasn't time to put it on. Wand in his left hand and sword in his right, Harry inched his head free of the tree.

"Sirius?"

"Harry!" The footsteps sped up; something cracked under a hard-soled boot. "What the _hell _are you doing here?"

Coming out of his crouch, Harry ducked out from behind the tree. His knees were weak with relief, but his face suddenly felt flushed. "Well, we were…"

"Running away," Ginny supplied quickly, coming out from underneath a rock. "We were running from the Dementors and we lost our way."

"Right." Sirius snorted. "And I'm Celestina Warbeck." He glanced over his shoulder once, his eyes narrowing. When he turned back to face them, his eyes were frighteningly cold. "You were going back, weren't you?"

There was an awkward silence as the Misfits all emerged from their hiding places, glancing at one another for reassurance. No, lying to thiswizard would be pointless.

"Well, _someone _has to," Ron finally snapped, crossing his arms and waiting for Sirius to contradict him. Harry swallowed, but couldn't disagree. After all, it wasn't like he'd seen _Aurors_ rushing to Hogwarts' aid.

"You're right." Sirius' expression did not change, but Harry saw his eyes flicker in the direction of Hogwarts. "Someone does. But that's not you."

"Are you going?" Harry demanded.

"No. Not yet."

"What?" Six voices shouted, Harry's included. He felt like his eyes were going to jump out of his head.

"Not yet," Sirius repeated dispassionately. "First, I'm getting you out of here."

"We can handle ourselves just fine!"

"Against Voldemort?" Sirius' voice was suddenly hard.

"Harry killed two Dementors," Hermione objected in a small voice. Harry glanced at her, surprised that she'd be the one to argue. Yet there was a fire in her eyes, pain that _needed _to be acted upon to be eased.

Sirius twisted around to face Harry. "You did?"

"It was the sword," Harry explained, holding the weapon up with a shrug. "I didn't do much."

Sirius blinked.

Far in the distance, someone else screamed. Someone new—instinctively, Harry knew that it wasn't Remus. _Professor Shacklebolt? _The screams sounded male.

And then another set started, distinctively female.

Sirius blinked again, wincing slightly, though his expression smoothed out almost too quickly for the Misfits to notice. His voice sounded hoarse. "Let's go."

"But—" One last try from, again, Hermione.

"You can't do anything," Sirius said quietly. "Neither can—"

Remus screamed, suddenly and just once, cutting him off.

"Neither can you," Harry snapped before he could stop himself. "Is that what you were going to say?"

"Harry…" Warning tone.

"No! If we don't do something, who will? There's at least three people there, and Remus is going to die if—"

"Harry!"

He should have stopped, but emotion overrode everything else. Harry shrieked over Sirius' shout. "We can't leave him there!"

"D'you think, Harry, that your father, Peter, or I would leave Remus in Voldemort's hands for _one _moment longer than necessary?" His godfather retorted, his face closing off. "But we can't save him right now. We just can't."

Had there not been such pain in Sirius' voice, Harry might have gone on. But staring into the Auror's troubled blue eyes, he saw the same urgency he felt…and Sirius barely had it under control. Harry let out the breath he'd been holding, and closed his mouth, trying not to sigh. _It's not fair. _One look at the others showed that they felt the same.

In the silence that followed, Sirius reached out to grab Harry's shoulder. His touch wasn't exactly gentle, but it was comforting all the same, and Harry allowed himself to be led away.

One more scream, and then stillness.

* * *

The Other Author's Note: 

Just pulled in this morning, but Sol was kind enough to beta this for me the week before last, so here's the new chapter! I hope it answers a few questions (probably through asking many more), and that you like the newest addition to the UU.

Speaking of the UU, if you've not gone to the website ( or the Yahoo!Group, please do! Links to both are in my profile, and we'd love to have you. Also, thanks for all the wonderful reviews—too many to comment on them all!—and stay tuned for PD13: Out of Control. Please let me know what you think!


	14. Chapter 13: Out of Control

**Promises Defended

* * *

**

_Chapter Thirteen: Out of Control_

* * *

"Remember me, animal? Remember my _brother?_"

The words sounded distant through his haze, but as Remus regained consciousness, he realized that Rodolphus Lestrange was still rambling. Had the imbecile even noticed when Remus passed out? _Probably not._He wasn't exactly the observant type. Remus was still chained to the cold and slightly moldy wall of a Hogwarts cell, shivering helplessly when Dementors drifted through the open door.

There were impossibly many of the creatures, and Remus began to realize how Sirius had felt in Azkaban. _Azkaban…_ Would he end up there, or would it end at Hogwarts?

_Neither_. Shove the hopeless thoughts aside; he was not here to give up. His body ached with pain, but the Font was still there. Thankfully, Severus had (disdainfully) administered a healing tonic designed to leech most of the silver out of his system, which he'd desperately needed. Remus felt somewhat better than before, aside from the nausea and dizziness that made him see two or three of Voldemort's expert torturer—but at least he could concentrate now. That was something.

"Well?" Lestrange snarled. "Have no answer, _werewolf?_ Are you proud of having slain one of your betters, a pureblood son of a family than can trace its lineage back to Ptolemy and Circe?" Another blow fell; a rib snapped. "Half-blooded freak."

The little boy Remus Lupin that had come to Hogwarts would have cried. The man replied through split lips: "We all do what we can."

It was a supremely Dumbledore-esque comment, but served the intended purpose. Lestrange went red with anger, and his wand came up again. Remus looked calmly into his eyes and braced himself for pain. _I'm still winning_.

* * *

Sirius and the Misfits caught up with the other students just inside the far edge of the forest. They'd been somewhat surprised to find Ted Tonks already organizing the stragglers and taking roll, but the new Head of Gryffindor had been glad to hand control over to Sirius. Professor Sprout supported a wounded Sinistra while Madam Pomfrey and a limping Madam Hooch herded the children together, healing the worst injuries and leaving the less serious. There wasn't time, and no one objected. Most of the students were just _quiet_ as events sunk in.

So far, the death count was at least nine, and those were just bodies that people had seen. Almost eighty students were missing, and Sirius had no illusions. Of those, most were Slytherins. The others were probably dead.

They'd been clumped together for almost twenty minutes, with teachers forming a perimeter that no student was allowed to cross. They'd hoped against hope that more stragglers might show or that one of the three missing professors might suddenly lead more students out of the trees. But Sirius and the Misfits had been the last group by far; Ted and the others had been at the edge of the Forbidden Forest for almost an hour. No one else was coming, despite the whispered entreaties from friends and siblings. A few drifted in the direction of Hogwarts, staring wistfully into the distance…but none went further. Even the Misfits were silent. Percy was among the missing.

"The moon is bright tonight, but not yet full," a voice suddenly said. Someone screamed, and Ted Tonks swore.

Two centaurs emerged from the trees; students instinctively shuffled backwards. Sirius, on the other hand, took a hesitant step forward. He hadn't seen a centaur since his fourteenth year, but their dangerous allure remained. _Besides, it's not like anyone else is stupid enough to talk to them._

"Mars is also bright," Sinistra hobbled forward unexpectedly, reaching Sirius' side. She squinted, having lost her glasses somewhere, then continued directly. "You know about the battle?"

"We do," the older one replied gloomily. _Ronan?_ "Yet you should not be here, Professor. We cannot protect your younglings."

"No one asks you to," Sinistra replies. "We will be leaving soon—"

"We have chased off the Dementors," the pale palomino centaur replied just as Sirius remembered that his name was Firenze. His uncanny eyes focused briefly on Sirius. "You have time."

Sinistra stared speechlessly, as did Sirius. Centaurs _never _aided humans—at least, not until something darker and far more evil invaded their home. It was a valuable lesson to learn; perhaps there was hope, and cooperation could be possible in a world where bigotry and hatred were kept in check. Such feelings would never be gone—Sirius, of all people, understood that—but perhaps people could learn after all.

"Thank you," Ted whispered.

A pair of regal nods was the only response before the centaurs galloped away.

* * *

_Take the deep breath and let it out_. That was supposed to calm you down, right? Deep breaths. Calm thoughts. Evil actions.

And the last was the worst. He'd made the wrong choice, had watched everything spiral out of control. Yet he'd thought it out so _carefully_, had known what had to be done. Hadn't he? A sick chill ran down Severus' spine. Obviously, he hadn't. Something had gone wrong.

Now Voldemort owned Hogwarts, which he had expected. Death Eater children laughed with their parents, feasting during every hour of the day and toasting the Dark Lord's victory. Dementors floated freely through Snape's dungeons, having their own feast on the screams and terror. Bellatrix danced among them, in her element and charged with interrogating three of Hogwarts' "finest": a werewolf, a crippled ex-Auror, and a scatter-brained fraud. Vector was already dead due to Bellatrix's sick ministrations; even old roommates were accorded no mercy. Of course, Bellatrix loved every moment, adored every curse and every blow. Severus had watched her lick the blood from her fingers more than once and no longer found himself able to be sickened by it.

Bodies still littered the courtyard; no one had bothered to clean them up. Severus would have to order the house elves to do so later in the day. He'd call the corpses unsanitary.

_Nice to know that you're living a life of lies, isn't it?_ a nasty voice inside him wanted to know, and he swatted it aside. Wrong or right, this was not the time for grief.

Kingsley was screaming, now. Bella must have been aiming for him when she'd skipped down the stairs, a cruel looking whip in hand. As the Death Eaters had discovered more than once, magical torture methods carried with them a significant risk of causing insanity, but Bella had long ago figured out how to overcome _that_. After all, there was much to be said about traditional human torture devices, she'd often pointed out. Blood was so _stimulating._

Severus scowled, and then turned it into a glare as he passed young Goyle. He was with Draco Malfoy, predictably, but Severus could hardly imitate death when looking the way of his "best friend's" son. However, he would have vastly preferred to take his anger out on Lucius' precious heir, who had gleefully cursed Professor Vector as she tried to lead the young Slytherins to safety. Cursed her in the back, no less. _His first Unforgivable, cast at the age of twelve. That has to be a record._

_I bet Lucius is proud._

At least Draco was down to one bodyguard these days, having lost Vincent Crabbe, Jr. in the most permanent way. Snape found it hard to mourn for his lost student; Crabbe's death had to be attributed to terminal stupidity. He'd wandered straight into the hungry arms of a Dementor that he'd been sure would not harm his father's son. Idiot. The almost-as-foolish father was crazed with grief, and Snape had sneered openly at _him_ earlier that morning. Malfoy half-smiled at his professor, though, and Snape nodded distractedly. It was time.

He'd tried to put this duty off for as long as possible, but Rodolphus had exited the dungeons five minutes ago, and this was the only chance for privacy he had. Bella did not count—she was rather single-minded in general, and especially when torturing someone. She'd not notice Snape or think to wonder about his purpose. Officially, he was analyzing the effectiveness of his anti-silver tonic, but his actual mission was different. Doing so was risky, foolish, and even deadly, but Severus _had _to. He'd only sworn loyalty to two things in his life, and he'd betrayed the first over a decade ago. It was time to honor the second, even if doing so meant death.

Besides, he tried to reassure himself, _those _three would never let Remus die. They were too loyal, too foolish, too…caring. Remus deserved better than to languish and then die in one of Voldemort's pet hells, and they'd see to it that he did not. For a moment, he envied them, and then pushed the thought aside. Everyone, in the end, followed roads that were dictated by their nature. Perhaps his was to betray.

He passed Trelawney's cell on the way; she appeared to be blissfully unconscious for now. Even Voldemort knew she was an airhead and a fraud; he'd not be likely to waste time on one such as she.

Kingsley was still screaming.

_Don't think of that now._

One step in front of the other. Black robes swished around his legs as he strode forward, letting purpose drive him and keep his face impassive. Stone. Or angry stone, anyway. He was good at that.

Two Dementors skittered out of his way as Severus approached, strangely compliant. They must have been satiated by the evening's work, which he'd have thought impossible—but neither had Severus ever imagined _happy _looking Dementors. Then again, he'd never really imagined Hogwarts in Voldemort's hands, either.

The door swung open without protest, and he'd almost hoped it was locked. Taking a deep breath, he stepped inside, smelling blood and vomit immediately. The silver had taken its toll long before Severus had dared suggest administering an antidote of sorts (there wasn't an antidote, really, but at least he'd kept the stab wound from causing a deadly infection), and poor Remus had already emptied the contents of his stomach by then.

_Poor Remus?_ Had he really just thought that? Severus had to close his eyes. Yes, he had, and yes, it was true. Remus was a wreck.

Chained to the wall and bleeding from head to toe, Hogwarts' headmaster already looked as if he'd been tortured for weeks. His clothes were rags, his skin pale, and his hair a tangled mess that covered half of his bleeding face. Remus was breathing raggedly, but steadily; not for the first time, Severus admired his self control. He always had, even as children. It had been the only thing he'd liked about any of the self-styled "Marauders."

_Concentrate, Severus!_ Distraction was far too easy when you didn't want to think about the present. "Remus?"

Blue eyes cracked open, oddly calm. Surprise flickered in them, but not much. After all, who else would it be?

"Severus…" A cough. "You shouldn't be here."

"Tell me something that I do not know," he replied dryly, reaching inside his robes. He held up a vial, put it to Remus' lips. "Here. Drink this."

Remus did without objection. "Thanks."

"Sanodoleo. It will dull the pain a bit."

"Thanks," Remus repeated. He wasn't fool enough to refuse because he wanted to seem courageous; Remus was far too smart for that. He knew that survival was more important than appearances could ever be.

"I cannot stay long…but I had to come." The words came far easier than he expected them to. Severus had always been a proud man. "I wanted to apologize. I had not expected it to be like this."

"I did," the headmaster whispered between cracked lips. "Somehow…I knew."

Somehow. Remus knew how, of course, but Severus didn't want to. Something had changed about him in the last year, something important. _And that's it. That's what he wants, isn't it?_ Severus had told Voldemort about the change. And now Voldemort wanted to know.

_Shit_.

He'd really done it this time. "I don't quite know what to say," Severus admitted gruffly.

"Neither do I," Remus whispered. "But you should go."

A heavy weight landed on his heart. "Yes. I should."

When he strode from the cell, Snape's shoulders were back and his face was expressionless, save for the slight sneer that everyone assumed was pasted there. His emotions were firmly in check—his fellow Death Eaters would call them nonexistent—and his dark eyes were clear. _No regrets_. _Just the future. _

_

* * *

_

Midnight, and the only place they thought to go was Diagon Alley. After all, there was nothing that worked to calm children down like ice cream.

So Sirius had turned a large fallen tree into a rather illegal Portkey, and they'd headed off to Florean Fortescue's. The owners had been thankfully forgiving, and ice cream had been very forthcoming after a quick draft from Sirius' Gringotts' account.

Harry and the others sat in the front corner, with six chairs pulled up to a table meant for four. Seeing the heartbreak on their faces made Sirius swallow; he wanted to offer them reassurance but could not. Percy Weasley was missing, and though the Misfits had taunted him and chafed under his watchful eye, they'd _cared _about him. Sirius recognized the signs. He'd felt the same way himself during his third year, when Michelle Silverman had been murdered right in the middle of Hogsmeade. Michelle had been a fifth year Gryffindor prefect, half-blooded and very pretty. She'd also been smart, nice, and an all-around favorite of the entire school…until Voldemort struck. Everything had crystallized for the Marauders that day: Hogwarts had no longer been safe

Now the Misfits had the same experience, and Sirius wished he had words to make it better. But there weren't any, and he knew it. The only thing he could do was bring their parents to Fortescue's. He could send the children home to where it might or might not be any safer. Still…there were professors to handle that. His job was different.

_They teach. I protect._

And that was the difference, wasn't it? Voldemort was out to destroy. Sirius was fighting to protect his friends, to protect his world. Yes, he was willing to kill. He'd certainly done so in the past. But he _was _different.

"What about Remus? And the others?"

Harry's question startled him, as did the big green eyes staring up at him. Sirius hadn't been conscious of drifting towards the Misfits' table, but there he was, only a few feet away.

"We'll save him," Sirius replied immediately. "I promise."

"Can you?" Hermione bit her lip.

_Damn straight I can._ "Yes," Sirius replied. "We have to."

"Professor Lupin is different, isn't he?" Surprisingly, it was little Ginny Weasley, whom Sirius barely knew at all. Yet she was a perceptive one, as strange as those glasses looked on her pale face.

"Not different, really, or not in the way you may think…but yes." Sirius had to choose his words carefully. Instinctively, he knew what lay at the heart of Hogwarts was what had brought Voldemort there. The Dark Lord knew the value of symbols…but he also knew that Hogwarts was, in the end, just a school. There was little strategic value there now that Dumbledore was gone.

No, he was after the Font, even if he didn't know it.

"I know," Ginny said quietly, and then fell silent. Her brothers shot her strange looks, but she just stared into the distance. Sirius knew exactly how she felt.

And then Molly Weasley and Lily Potter arrived, and he was swept back by them. Sirius didn't truly feel out of place—it was simply that his work lay elsewhere. The Mollys and the Lilys of the world _healed _people. The Remuses and the Dung Fletchers _taught_ them. James led them. Sirius…Sirius just tried to save them.

* * *

"You wanted to see me, My Lord?"

Lucius was on his guard; late afternoon had arrived, and the euphoria was fading. The children were still ecstatic, but they did not understand. Not really. They were far too young, even those who had been raised for this life. _Tread warily, Lucius, _he told himself behind an impassive face. _He's been wandering the grounds since breakfast. He's looking for something. Let it not be you._

"The mystery of Hogwarts…" the Dark Lord mused softly, his eyes staring into the distance. They stood on the front steps, now, and Lucius wisely stayed several feet away and _silent._ Most importantly silent. Voldemort was not pleasant when someone presumed to interrupt his thought processes.

"Albus Dumbledore was not an ordinary wizard. Do you agree?'

Surprised by the question, Lucius almost voiced the first thought to come to mind: _Ordinary enough to die_. Thankfully, he caught himself in time. "No, My Lord. He was not."

"Yet no one ever asked why." The tall figure turned to face him. "We always assumed that he was just _Dumbledore._"

Somehow, the soft tone of voice underlined the importance of the words, and Lucius felt his eyebrows rising.

"You do not think his powers were…natural, My Lord?" One had to be careful what one implied with that.

"No." The red eyes tore away from Lucius and looked down, studying the thousand-year-old stone steps. Voldemort was silent until his eyes had traveled up the castle's face and back to Lucius again. "They came from Hogwarts." Something brilliantly bright flashed in the usually cold eyes. "Lupin has them."

"Lupin?" The absurdity of the remark startled an honest response out of Lucius. _A worthless, half-blooded _monster _inherited Dumbledore's powers? _He wanted to snarl, and barely stopped himself in time. Bad enough that Dumbledore had been a Mudblood; he'd lived so long and done so much that one had almost been able to forgive that. But a half-blooded _werewolf?_

"Oh, yesss." The hiss in the voice almost had Lucius searching for a snake. "But Lupin…Lupin is everything Dumbledore was not."

_He is_ not_ saying that Lupin is more powerful than Dumbledore was._ Lucius stared. "My Lord?"

A slow smile greeted his shock. "He is no great mover of events, no influencer content to sit on the sidelines and wait. Lupin is a warrior. The wolf will not let him be less."

"I see." He didn't, but it did not do to ask.

"Yet Dumbledore gave him something." Voldemort's eyes flickered across the courtyard. "And it is here to be found." The cold look found Lucius again.

"We will find it, My Lord," he promised. As if he could say anything else.

"Do so."

No threats were necessary; Lucius had been a Death Eater for too long. He simply took his leave and searched out the two that might know the most: his son and Severus Snape. _Let Bella and Rodolphus try to torture it out of Lupin. They won't succeed, and there are other ways. _

_

* * *

_

Sirius was the last to arrive and was surprised to find a discussion already in progress. Usually, they had the good grace to wait.

"I cannot believe that you disobeyed our—" Fudge started, only to be cut off by a furious James.

"_Disobeyed?_" the Minister snapped back, his hazel eyes flashing dangerously. "First of all, I am the Minister of Magic, not you. Choosing to disregard your well-meant advice is not disobedience. Second of all, no Aurors attacked Hogwarts. The head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement simply helped evacuate the students, something _everyone _here should have been willing to do."

"We had more pressing concerns," Fudge retorted.

"Like what?" Sirius asked quietly, feeling all eyes turn in his direction. They hadn't noticed him until now, and the looks he received ranged from appreciative but frazzled (James) to downright hostile (Fudge). Unfortunately, the majority fell somewhere near the latter category.

"Hem, hem." Dolores Umbridge cleared her through and glared pointedly. "No one asked _you_." Surprised by her audacity, Sirius stared at Fudge's understudy. What the hell was she doing there? Did James lack the power to kick her out?

"Yet I have every right to reply," he replied mildly, glad that his shock had given him a moment to think over the response. Anger wouldn't help here. The government was already fraying. Umbridge glared.

"Now, if we could return to the subject at hand…" Amos Diggory suggested with unusual spine.

"No." James' face was hard. "The subject is closed. Take your seats and come to order."

_Finally!_

Chairs scraped loudly on the wood floor; department heads obeyed reluctantly. Oddly enough, a slight smirk creased Fudge's face, and an alarm started screeching in Sirius' head.

"We will decide today what action we will take in regards to Hogwarts," James continued in that same frozen voice. "And nothing is not an option."

"Wait one moment!" Fudge shot to his feet; he loved to do that, to tower over James. "Hogwarts is no longer an immediate danger. The students and the teachers are safe. We can now examine options other than direct assault."

"Other options?" Arthur demanded. "What about the missing? What about Remus Lupin?"

"While it is regrettable that some people are not accounted for, the loss of Lupin is not a tragic—"

"What?" Peter cut him off before either James or Sirius could speak. "How can you say such a thing about a man wh—"

Arthur stopped suddenly, eyes wide, and no one picked up where he left off, either to argue or otherwise. The argument died as letters began tracing themselves out on the long oak table. One by one, in hunter green trimmed with silver against the dark surface:

_T H E O F F E R R E M A I N S ._

Sirius went still, feeling each breath continue on at the same steady pace. _Interesting, _he thought passively. _Have I worried him that much?_

"Well." Fudge was the first to recover, smiling benignly at James. "You did want action."

"Absolutely not," the Minister of Magic snapped before Sirius could open his mouth. His mind was racing ahead of the conversation, examining possibilities and measuring risks. Despite what Fudge was thinking, it might work. He _could_… James' voice was cold enough to freeze molten lava. "We will not fall into Voldemort's trap. Not _this _time. Not ever."

"Hem, hem," Umbridge spoke out of turn again. "I believe that this offer—"

"No one asked you," Arthur interrupted her nastily. _This is bad._

"Enough!" James snapped. "The discussion is closed. We will return to the subject of freeing Hogwarts _now_. The Ministry is responsible for safe-guarding the school as per the Stump Act of 1877, which means that we will are obligated to act. I propose we utilize an Auror strike team, led by Sirius Black." Usually, James wasn't quite so blunt, but Sirius could see the stress eating at him.

"Of course you would," Nathaniel Adams retorted, turning to glare at Sirius. Sirius just stared back distantly, hardly paying attention to the discussion. If he went, if he broke James' heart and did so anyway…

There were possibilities at work, deadly ones, but definite possibilities. The real question was the most important, though. Could he? He would dare, of course, but could Sirius do this to his best friend?

James glared. "It's our best option."

_Not good_. His best friend's control was shattering, and Sirius keyed back into the conversation, alerted by the tone of James' voice. Instantly, he knew that he had to say something—but he had no idea what. James' hazel eyes were narrowing ominously, and the tense set of his shoulders told Sirius that he wanted to explode. Suddenly, Sirius had to swallow, and he knew what had to be done.

"I disagree," Fudge replied quietly. Civilly. "He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has indicated a willingness to request peace. I suggest that we avail ourselves of this chance instead of squandering it like the last one."

"In case you've forgotten—" Arthur started hotly.

"Hem, hem."

Fudge continued as soon as Umbridge cleared the path for him. "I believe that our best option is to play for time. We can string He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named out with negotiations until we are in a better bargaining position and then move forward from there."

Soft murmurs of agreement filled the room, humming like some gentle killer insect as it lulled unsuspecting victims into complacency.

"And what position do you hope to be in?" James demanded tightly. "If we fail to fight back, everything we stand for becomes a lie. Don't you see that?"

"I'm afraid that I must respectfully disagree."

"Oh, really?" James snapped. "And how will you placate Voldemort? You still fear his name!"

"A little fear is healthy," Abner Bode pointed out unevenly, speaking for the first time. James glared.

"And too much will cripple you," Sirius replied, letting his eyes travel from face to face, not liking what he saw.

"If we don't fight back, who are we?" James continued earnestly, pleadingly. "What message are we sending, that we give up after more than twenty years of war? How would the dead see us if _we give up_?"

"Is not ending the war now a better way to honor them?" Fudge countered. "I would think that—"

"By sacrificing another life?" the Minister retorted. "By betraying someone who has given everything in our cause?"

"What is one life in comparison with the world, James?" the other replied urgently, his voice rising in pitch. "Can't you see it? Even your friend does!" He gestured at Sirius, who'd hardly expected to be noticed. A critical moment flashed pass before he found his voice.

"I—"

"No," James cut him off. "We have no right to ask that of _anyone_. Ever."

"You can't dictate morality to the entire world!" Fudge started growing red with anger. "Who are you to—"

But James was not about to let that go, and he was clearly not about to shout back. Instead, his voice became deadly quiet. "I am the Minister of Magic."

"Are you mad?" Fudge finally shouted. Something seemed to snap; his eyes went wide with fury. "Take the offer while you can!"

"No."

"This is our only chance! How many more have to die before—"

"I will not surrender."

He was watching the Ministry disintegrate.

"But we can't possibly win! And you're not Albus Dumbledore, to dictate the path of our world!"

"I don't have to be Dumbledore to know that we can't give in. We'll fight this—to the end."

Sirius shivered as James' eyes flickered to him. _Please don't_, they said behind a calm exterior. _Don't do this to us, to our world._ He'd never seen James look like that, never seen those frightened creases on his face. Sirius swallowed hard, shoving chance and desire away. _I won't, _his eyes promised in return. Then he shivered again, keeping the next thought inside. _I won't break our friendship.

* * *

_

Morning heralded the arrival of a handful of Dementors escorting an irritable Martha Blackwood, her idiot brother, and a large wooden crate. Immediately, the creatures vanished into the dungeons, where Bella's morning session already had Kingsley Shacklebolt screaming and Sybil Trelawney whimpering in pain. The box and the Blackwoods, however, headed for the Great Hall, where the Death Eaters and their offspring were at breakfast.

Severus, of course, was seated at the head table. In fact, he had been given the distinct honor of the seat at his lord's right hand in thanks for his actions the night before. _Has it really only been that long? _Less than fifteen hours had passed, and Hogwarts would never been the same again.

It still rankled to see Voldemort in Remus' chair. In Dumbledore's chair. The Death Eaters had cheered when he sat down, and while Severus had clapped politely, he felt empty. He'd made the biggest mistake of his life, and was being rewarded handsomely for it. At Voldemort's right hand. Lucius didn't like that very much, either.

Young Draco's eyes shone when Martha opened the crate. A moment later, he led the children's laughter as a battered and catatonic Lee Jordan was lifted out. He hung limply in the air, no longer fighting or even trying—and somehow, that sight made a lump rise in Severus' throat when nothing else had. Maybe it was the children pointing and laughing. Maybe it was the satisfied smirk on Rodolphus' face. Or maybe he was just _sick _of this game.

_Good thing you are, Severus, _a dark inner voice reminded him. _Because from now on, you are a Death Eater.__ There is no going back from here. No playing both sides. There's only one fatal move left to make._

Try not to swallow. Smile and eat breakfast. Be at ease and be proud. They had conquered Hogwarts.

* * *

The Other Author's Note: 

I plan on updating once more before _Half Blood Prince _comes out on Friday, so look for a chapter on Wednesday, or Thursday at the latest. After that, I'll need at least a week to digest, but probably two (I'll be underway starting next Monday, and then in Belfast Maine for the Belfast Bay Festival with the ship). From there, I'll work on integrating all the new canon information into PD, PR, and PU, so it may be a bit…but not that long. I'm finished through half of PD16 right now, so stay tuned for more.

Please let me know what you think of this chapter before PD14: Sacrifices Made comes out later this week! As always, thanks very much for reading. The outstanding feedback really has kept me writing faster, even when I'm standing twelve hours of watch a day.


	15. Chapter 14: Sacrifices Made

**Promises Defended

* * *

**

_Chapter Fourteen: Sacrifices Made_

* * *

In another world, Number 12, Grimmauld Place, would also be a safe haven. It would be darker there, dirtier and dilapidated. But there would be more Weasleys and they were happier. For a time.

By the evening of the second day, most of the weeping was done. Even Molly Weasley only sniffled from time to time, having screamed her lungs out for this second son she had lost. Lily had stayed with her, leaving the other children to fend for themselves until Bill arrived with his energetic protégé, Nymphadora Tonks. Together, they had lifted the Misfits out of the rut Percy's death had put them in, and life restarted on the fifteenth of January. For the most part.

The tear-stained letter from Penelope Clearwater helped, because even distraught parents could take pride in the fact their son had died a hero. News coming out of Hogwarts was scarce, and parents were hiding their surviving children, but things had begun to settle down by the time the third day dawned. Even Harry could sense that, listening to some reporter on the WWN. People were coming to terms with Hogwarts' loss, even as they trembled behind locked doors and defensive wards.

The Weasleys and Hermione were also sheltering at Grimmauld Place for the time being—safety was paramount, and with James and Arthur both spending all hours of the day at the Ministry, Lily and Molly felt more comfortable together. Truth be told, the children did, too. They preferred to stick together. Dealing with the shock was easier when there were others to distract you.

"Not again," Harry muttered, glaring at the wireless.

"…And sources at the Ministry indicate that Minister of Magic James Potter's so-called War Council is in session once more. Rumors tell of a deadlock between department heads over the future of the Wizarding World and if peace should be given a try. Regardless, it is certain that the Ministry is still reeling over the loss of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, long considered to be impregnable. However, on this third day since You-Know-Who's victory, no Ministry forces can be seen in the vicinity of either Hogwarts or Hogsmeade…"

Harry reached out and slapped the **OFF** button. There was no use listening to news that his father and Arthur brought home every night, and caused the first genuine fight Harry had ever seen his father and godfather have. Sirius was itching to act, but doing so would tear the government apart—or so Harry's father claimed.

"I was listening to that, you know," Hermione commented dully. First her parents had died, and now Hogwarts was lost; Harry knew she was reeling inside. But she made no move to turn the wireless back on, even though she sat across the table from Harry and was just as close to the radio.

"Oh. Sorry."

Hermione shrugged and returned to her book, _A History of Darkness, 1613-1877_. Harry returned to staring.

The Misfits had more or less claimed the parlor as their own, wandering in and out of the library from time to time. Hermione was the most frequent seeker of books, but reading served as a bit of a balm to all of them. It was quiet and peaceful, yet they were not alone. Not being lonely helped, especially since they'd run out of games to play the day before, and pranks without Percy to play them on had lost their allure. Harry winced at his own thoughts. _Why Percy? He was the most careful of us all._

"I wish there was something to do," Ginny said quietly, flipping through an old photo album on the couch. "Anything but…sitting here and thinking about it."

"Yeah," Ron said softly. "If we could only play Quidditch or something."

"Lily said we couldn't," Hermione replied almost automatically, earning herself a glare or two. Immediately, her face fell. "Sorry."

"Till tomorrow," George spoke for the first time. "We can play tomorrow."

"And even Hermione'll play," Ginny said put in. "Won't you, Hermione?"

Hermione sighed. "Ginny, you know I don't like heights."

"We'll stay low," Fred promised.

"And slow," George added.

"I don't even have a broom."

"My dad's go an extra one," Harry supplied. "You can use that."

"But…"

"Please?" Ron asked, uncharacteristically quiet. Hermione huffed.

"Fine." The Misfits grinned, finally able to smile. "But I'll sabotage the game, I swear."

Ginny giggled. "Just so long as there is a game." And so long as they could do it together.

Life went on. Even on the third day.

* * *

Remus' eyes were sliding in and out of focus. He'd already lost track of time; he _thought _four days had passed, but there was no way to be sure. No light entered the dungeons—_No wonder why so many students think Severus is a vampire—_and torturers arrived at erratic intervals. So did Dementors.

This, however, was different. He hadn't yet expected to face the Dark Lord. Not in private. Red eyes were studying him, stripping his outer image away and tearing into the man beneath. Remus shivered slightly, not bothering to hide it. If Voldemort underestimated him, so much the better…but enough was enough. He forced himself to stop. _If Sirius felt this way for ten years, I've never admired him enough._ Deep breath. There would be time enough for such thoughts later. Now, he had to survive and look Voldemort in the eye.

"You're doing well," his captor commented. "For a werewolf."

Remus just stared back. The trick was not to let him get under his skin, not to react.

"There is a full moon in four days, you know."

Silence. Remus hadn't forgotten, and he now knew how long had passed. Today was the fifteenth. Still three days.

"It will be your first time without Wolfsbane in years, won't it?" the other continued softly. "I imagine that will be quite painful."

_So?__ It always is._

Cold eyes narrowed. "Your friend proved a much better conversationalist." Not a warning yet. Just a comment.

But Remus decided to oblige. "Sirius says a lot of things."

"Yet it's those he does not say that one has to pay attention to."

_He _does _know Sirius well_.

"What do you want from me?" Remus finally asked, knowing that Voldemort would perceive the question as a sign of weakness, but needing to turn the conversation away from his friend.

"Just the truth," was the soft reply. "Nothing more."

Remus shook his head. "You want Hogwarts."

"So I do." A slow smile spread across the pale face. "But I believe they are one and the same. Are they not?"

Silence. He'd only go so far.

"Have it your way, then. _Crucio!_"

* * *

The only good thing about his situation was that his research materials were intact. Everything he'd been working on prior to Voldemort's summons was exactly how he'd left it, which, in retrospect, should not have been a surprise. The dungeons were far emptier these days; even Slytherin students did not dare lurk in shadows. However, Dementors did not care about material objects, so Snape's research was safe.

Bubbling in an innocent cauldron in the back left hand corner of his private office, it had gone unnoticed even when Lucius wandered in at his side. There was no label, of course, but even a halfway decent potions maker could have discerned its purpose eventually. After all, a potion designed to counter magically-extended paralysis wasn't exactly subtle.

"Odd how true that is," Severus muttered under his breath, moving to stir the dark purple liquid. Things had to be bad if he was talking to himself.

But the answer had been staring Severus in the face. In retrospect, he realized that a lesser potions master might very well have created a solution in months less time than he'd taken; Severus had been wary of traps, of hidden ingredients and what he tended to call Cause and Effect Factors. After all, he had been a Death Eater for all of his adult life, and he knew how the mind of such a potions maker worked. _Severus _included seemingly benign ingredients into his potions, ensuring that the correct but obvious counter would bring out secondary effects worse than the original ones.

Martha Blackwood, however, wasn't Severus Snape. She wasn't really even a talented potions maker, in fact, which was what had thrown him off. Snape was used to higher quality competition.

He rolled his eyes and leaned over to sniff at the potion. It was almost ready; another four days of simmering and the process would be complete. After that, all he had to do was let the dark purple liquid cool down (it was currently boiling, and he adjusted the flame accordingly with a twitch of his wand. Simmer then boil, _then _simmer. So many students got that part wrong). One last stir, and then he stepped away. He wouldn't need to touch it again until the nineteenth.

Somehow, it was ironic that the cure for James Potter's paralysis currently sat right next to the now useless batch of Wolfsbane Potion he'd been brewing for that same day.

* * *

"Mum, I've got to go," Bill said gently, prying her hand lose from his arm. Molly looked like she wanted to cling to him, but Arthur took her hands instead. This was one of the rare moments that his father was home from the Ministry, and Bill was glad for it.

Behind the pair, his younger siblings and their friends crowded the front hall, silently watching the exchange. Bill had already shared light-hearted goodbyes with all of them, but everyone knew those had been contrived. Percy's funeral would have to wait until they recovered the body (if they could), and the lack of closure made Bill's departure even harder to bear.

_For all of us._Tonks had gone home for dinner the night before, and her parents had tried to talk her out of this, too. At least Bill wasn't the only one.

"Be careful," his mum reminded him, her eyes saying something far more worried.

"I will, Mum," he promised. He'd stayed the night, but there was no way to stay longer. Not after what had happened.

She looked ready to cry, and Bill hated it when she cried. But he couldn't _not _go, and if he hugged her, it would only make things worse. She'd cling to him for hours if he let her.

"Good luck, Bill," his father said thickly. Dark circles framed Arthur Weasley's eyes, and he seemed far older than Bill had ever seen him look. The stress at the Ministry was eating at him, and James had already left for yet another meeting that Bill's father should have already been at.

"Thanks, Dad."

And he turned his back on them, heading for where Tonks already waited by the front door. He'd walked away a hundred times before, walked into danger with hardly a twinge in his heart or a look over his shoulder, but this time was different. This time he was leaving his parents behind with two dead sons, and they were praying he would not become the third.

Tonks smiled slightly, squeezing his arm before following him out the door. She'd already become as much a friend as she was a student, probably because of the relative closeness in their ages; they were only eight years apart. But Bill was glad for that friendship, especially now. Sometimes an Auror needed more than family to fall back upon. Family tended to study the risks and the dangers too closely, and try to talk you out of doing what had to be done.

His mum sobbed in the split second before the door shut behind him, but Bill closed the door with a resolute _click._ If he looked back, he'd probably not walk out again.

* * *

"My Lord, my I impose upon a moment of your time?" Lucius asked, bowing low. Voldemort appeared to be in a good mood, but there was no chancing what the homicidal Dark Lord might do next. Things had gone so well that he just might be looking for someone to punish. It happened sometimes, usually when one was least expecting anger. Lucius was of the private opinion that Voldemort's mood swings were intended solely for their audience; he wanted to keep his reputation for being unpredictable.

The head did not turn. "Speak."

"My son has some information that may be of service to you, Master." But he kept his hands tight on Draco's shoulders. It wouldn't do to let the boy say something foolish.

"Oh?" Voldemort finally looked over his shoulder, making Draco bow nervously—entirely too like a Jack in the Box and without any grace whatsoever.

"Yes, My—" Draco's eyes were the size of doorknobs, and he stuttered. "Master."

"Do go on."

The bastard was amused.

"There is a door underneath the castle," Draco replied quickly—too quickly. He was trying to get every word out in the same breath, and Lucius squeezed his shoulders hard enough to get the boy's attention. Thankfully, his son correctly interpreted the message, and inhaled once before continuing a bit slower. More dignified. "It's called the Founder's Door, My Lord, and legend says—"

"That it was built to safeguard Hogwarts' greatest treasure," Voldemort interrupted, his tone still light, almost bantering. "Yes, I know the story, and the door itself is gone now. What of it?"

Caught off guard, Draco floundered. "It—" he tried, then cut off. "Well—" Lucius had to fight the urge to roll his eyes. "I—"

"My son and his friends saw Lupin go through there a few weeks ago. He left with notes and left without them, My Lord."

"Oh?"

Even Lucius had to admit that sideways look was unnerving, especially if you were twelve years old. So he didn't bother waiting for Draco to respond. "It may be nothing, Master," he said smoothly. "But there is a possibility that Lupin left something behind, and I felt that you should be notified before any action was taken."

"Did you now?" the Dark Lord muttered, but Lucius did not take the bait. _Wait for it…_ Voldemort waved a hand airily. "Very well."

It was clearly a dismissal, and not at all what Lucius had been hoping for—but he knew to take an exit when he had one, so he pulled his son into a jerky bow and swept out. _He thinks there's something there. Did he not, I'd be investigating it now._

Draco scurried off immediately to find his mother, still rattled but now full of grand stories of having given the Dark Lord necessary information. She'd deal with him easily enough, and then send him off to tell his friends what he had done. No problems there; Narcissa was the thoughtful sort, and hearing Draco's tales would tell her where Lucius had gone.

He wasn't quite stupid enough to go down to the Founder's Door. Instead, he searched out the old friend who should have known Hogwarts better than any other. _And why didn't _you _tell our Master this, Severus? _Lucius wondered idly. Unless he already had. Or…unless Severus didn't know, which Lucius found hard to believe. Either way, something lay behind that door, and Voldemort knew it. Lucius would find out.

* * *

"So we're stuck here," Jason Clearwater said bitterly. "Is that what you're saying?"

For once, his mentor did not chastise him for the rude tone, or for interrupting their leader. But then, Hestia had her own loss to deal with, and it made the normally outgoing witch unusually quiet.

"No," Sirius replied, finding himself inordinately glad that Penelope Clearwater had not died. Her brother was already a problem waiting to happen; her death would have transformed him into a bomb waiting to explode. "You may leave when you wish. You can go home. But…we cannot act. Not yet."

"What if there are still children there?" Horace Smeltings wanted to know.

Sirius resisted the urge to sigh. "I don't believe there are," he replied quietly, knowing that the words weren't enough. "And the important matter is—as much as I hate to say it—if we act without orders, we'll tear the government apart."

"Is that such a bad thing?" Heads snapped around to stare at Jessica Avery. She shrugged. "I want this war to end as much as the rest of you, but _certain _individuals in the Ministry seem to be dragging it out as long as possible. If we could take Fudge down, we might stand a chance."

"Or Fudge might be right," Austen Fenwick muttered under his breath, earning himself a glare from his onetime Mentor, Alice Longbottom.

"_Or _he might just get us all killed with his stupidity," she retorted before Sirius could speak. "I'll believe that he's the Wizarding World's savior the day that Merlin dances naked on the Ministry roof."

"I didn't say he was the world's savior," Fenwick replied irritably. "Only that he might be right about giving peace a chance. Haven't enough people died?"

"And who are we if we—" Clearwater started, spinning to face Fenwick.

"Enough!" Sirius bellowed the word, less because he thought he had to than because he wanted there to be no doubt about where he stood. "No matter what our personal beliefs may be, the fact remains that we are Aurors, obligated to support the government _in office_ if we like it or not. And right now, that means sitting on our hands."

"For how long?" Calvin Waters demanded. Odd how the old timers were staying quiet today, and the young ones were asking the questions. Did everyone feel the dread Sirius felt?

"I don't know."

"But there are—"

"He knows, Calvin," Cornelia Crouch interrupted quietly. "We all do."

* * *

_"Breaking news—just in! Witches and wizards flock to the Ministry of Magic as rumors of a Vote of No Confidence in Minster James Potter abound. Sources inside the Ministry hinting that this might be a possibility early this morning, but this is the first confirmation we have heard—_

_"James Potter's War Council has been in a closed session since ten this morning, ever since Sirius Black arrived. The head of the Aurors and longtime friend of Minister Potter is sure to object to such a vote, and—"

* * *

_

James was slumped in his chair, looking exhausted. Had he slept the night before, or had he sensed this coming? Arthur Weasley had taken over the fight at least twenty minutes ago…which was exactly four hours since Sirius had stepped in the room and found the doors locked behind him.

_Hell, I'm surprised they let me in at all. Would have been much easier for them to win if they'd started without me._ He met James' eyes across the table; it was no coincidence that Sirius had placed himself opposite his best friend. But it hadn't helped. Looking at James just made his heart lie heavier.

"What are you _thinking_?" Arthur asked for perhaps the fifteenth time. "Are you thinking at all? We are so close, so _close_. Don't let Voldemort's victory at Hogwarts fool you—we've been making _progress_. Will you throw all of that away?"

"I fail to see how you can call children dying 'progress,'" Paden Patil replied tightly.

Arthur sighed, far too visibly for Sirius' tastes. He needed to watch his expressions more carefully. "I'm not arguing that Hogwarts isn't a tragedy," he replied. "Just that we can't allow one loss to do this to us. How many times have we pulled victory out of certain defeat? How many times have we found hope when there was none?"

Angry eyes followed Arthur's every move as he pointed at James.

"_He _did that. We didn't. Not a _one of us_ has put a tenth as much heart and soul into our world as this one man." Adams bristled, but Arthur continued as Sirius tried not to sigh. "Is this how you thank him for all his hard work? By saying it was for nothing?"

"We are not," Fudge replied, rising gracefully, "diminishing Mr. Potter's accomplishment or even arguing that he failed to lead us well in a time of crisis. However, the fall of Hogwarts represents a new and unexpected phase of this war, and we need a new beginning to match that."

"A new beginning will only get us killed," Arthur replied bitterly. "It will lose the war."

"Hem, hem." Umbridge again, running interference for Fudge.

"There is nothing to guarantee that. You have your opinions, and we have ours. We are all on the same side here." His most winning politician's smile.

"Are we?" Sirius muttered, not caring if he was heard or not. Umbridge's head snapped around.

"Do you have something to say, Mr. Black?" she demanded.

"No." He shook his head. "The truth has already been spoken, and ignored, more than once. Nothing I can say will change your minds."

Triumph flashed in Umbridge's eyes, but Fudge was too canny to let it show. The toad smiled at Sirius in what she probably thought was a gracious manner, but he narrowed his eyes in return. Did they even know what they had done?

"In which case—" Fudge started until Sirius cut him off.

"I can say this, though." He did not stand, instead learning forward in his seat, his hands folded lightly on the tabletop. "If we don't fight him, Voldemort will win. If we negotiate for _peace_, making concession after concession, we will find that everything we have fought against has become our lives.

"Do you want death? Destruction? Torture?" Sirius struggled to keep his tone light, to keep the darkness out of his eyes. "No? Then fight him." One by one, he looked them in the eyes. "Fight him or die. It's really that simple."

"Hem, hem. We are not so foolish as not to place such restrictions in our demand for peace," Umbridge retorted, looking superior.

"And how will you enforce them?" Sirius countered. "How will you stop him when he starts again?

"No disrespect intended to anyone here, but I don't think a one of you—other than the man you're determined to replace—has the strength it takes to look Voldemort in the eye and tell him _no_."

Affronted, Fudge tried to defend himself. "I—"

"Especially you, _Mister _Fudge." Sirius did not smile sweetly, as he once would have. Now he was dead serious, and he wished they understood.

"Personal insults don't have a place here!" Adams snapped when Fudge stared.

"I agree," Sirius replied. "They don't."

"In which case, we ought to move along with the vote now," Amos Diggory interjected nervously. "Four hours is quite long enough to discuss—"

"Wait one moment," Arthur interrupted. "There's no reason to rush matters…" He trailed off when James shook his head.

"No," the Minister of Magic said quietly. "Take your vote."

His eyes met Sirius', and James shrugged. He looked so tired, so beaten, and it was time to end this, for mercy's sake if nothing else. James' logic and strength had not won them over. Arthur's passionate arguments had failed. Peter's brutal honesty had meant nothing to them. Sirius' words had fallen on deaf ears. Looking in his friend's eyes, Sirius knew it was time.

_He didn't even want this job, _Sirius remembered. _We had to talk him into it. _He could almost sense Lily outside the doors, eavesdropping, which she hated to do. _And look at the good he's done. Has it all been for nothing?_

"Very well," Fudge replied. "On this sixteenth day of January in the year 1993, in the matter of the Vote of No Confidence, I call for a decision." His eyes traveled around the table, hard and eager. "The Minister of Magical Law Enforcement."

"Confidence."

"Minster of Magical Games and Sports."

Adams went so far as to sneer. "No confidence."

"The Minister of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes votes no confidence," Fudge continued, looking right at James. Sirius could have killed him for that. Did the bastard want to ruin the world? "Minister of International Magical Cooperation."

"Confidence," Peter replied, his voice quiet. For a moment, his worried eyes met Sirius', and the smaller man tried to force a smile. It failed.

"Minister of Magical Transportation."

Diggory hesitated, glancing from Fudge to Adams and back again. "No…no confidence."

"Minister for Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures."

"No confidence," Patil replied immediately, making Sirius swallow. That was it, then. No turning back.

Fudge, of course, had to drag it out to the end. "Department of Mysteries."

"Abstain." Heads turned; eyes opened wide. _Again?_Bode's cool reply was a surprise, but it changed nothing. Fudge nodded at the Unspeakable, almost with respect.

"Very well. By a count of four to two, with one abstaining, the vote carries. In accordance with the dictates of the collected Ministers, a temporary Minister of Magic will be chosen until elections can be held or the war ended. As my Deputy Minister of Magic, I choose—"

"A moment," James interjected suddenly, something hard in his eyes.

"Mr. Potter, you have no place here," Fudge replied sharply.

James' eyebrows shot up, then he smiled wryly. "Be that as it may, I will say this one thing." The smile transformed into a hard swallow.

"You will regret this. Mark my words…you will regret this moment."

"Is that a threat?" Umbridge demanded.

James shook his head, suddenly looking sad. "No. I just pray you—we—our world—will not pay for this day with blood."

* * *

Flashbulbs erupted in his face the moment Sirius stepped through the double doors. He was a half step in front of James, who had refused to let anyone push his wheeled chair out of the Ministry. Peter, to Sirius' left, had tried too, but James was in no mood to be helped, no mood to be _weak_. Even then, his face remained composed when reporters started shouting.

Sirius grimaced and didn't care who saw it. This was not a day for false smiles and feigned confidence. Let the world know how thoroughly Fudge had betrayed them.

Speaking of which—the little fool stepped up to the pre-positioned podium and smiled slightly for the crowd. Oh, he was too smart to show the triumph he'd displayed inside the meeting, but he exuded confidence and righteous victory. _Fool_. The reporters had been forewarned, of course. Fudge knew his trade well. His _trade._Sirius almost snorted out loud. The fool's trade was politics, and he was incapable of seeing past that.

"Minister Fudge!" Rita Skeeter's high pitched voice rose above the fray. "Are the rumors true? Are you now the Minister of Magic?"

A gentle smile. "Yes, Ms. Skeeter. I am."

Explosion. Reporters screeched questions, practically jumping on top of each other in a rush to get through. Some pushed, others shoved, and arms waved in the air for attention. Shocked eyes searched the faces of those standing behind Fudge (James and Sirius included), but aside from a twinkle in Nathaniel Adams' brown eyes, none of their expressions betrayed a thing. Still the reporters shouted, as if the loudest would gain recognition first and faster; understanding even one question through the chaos was impossible. Fudge waited them out patiently, with the same benign smile in place, looking every inch the statesman.

Silently, James rolled up between Sirius and Peter, his face set like stone. Sirius suddenly wanted to reach out to his friend, but the fury in those hazel eyes stopped him. James had no need for pity, even when he'd just watched his life's work destroyed. He didn't even want revenge; he just wanted to do the right thing, something Fudge would never understand.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Fudge's quiet (satisfied!) voice broke through the shouting; almost everyone quieted and stared.

"Minister—!"

"A moment, please," Fudge cut Li off calmly. "Allow me to make a statement first.

"As everyone here knows, Hogwarts has fallen to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. What you may not know is that we have been offered a chance to make peace. We have been offered a chance to _end the war_." Shocked _oohs_ from the crowd. "Obviously, we can't pass this chance up." Fudge glanced at James, nodding courteously.

"Accordingly, the Ministry has transitioned to a government more fitted to the peacemaking process. Minister Potter has been an outstanding and inspiring war leader, and he has wisely recognized the need for change. Therefore, he has stepped down from the position and ceded leadership of the government to me."

_He's being unusually kind, _Sirius thought dispassionately. _Then again, the victor can always afford to be charitable. Still…what _is _he going for?_

"My Ministers are as follows. Deputy Minister of Magic: Dolores Umbridge. Magical Games and Sports: Nathaniel Adams. Magical Accidents and Catastrophes: Arnold Peasegood. International Magical Cooperation: Evelyn Midgen. Magical Transportation: Paden Patil. Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures: Amos Diggory. Mysteries: Abner Bode. And Magical Law Enforcement: Sirius Black."

_What?_

Startled, Sirius twisted right to look at James. He was the very _last _person that anyone had expected Fudge to retain; Sirius was easily the most obnoxious and least controllable of all the department heads. James, however, did not look surprised at all. None of the anger had faded from the former Minister's eyes, but grim understanding was etched into his features. Any words James might have said would be worthless now; Fudge had gotten to the broom first, had killed him with kindness. And yet…James nodded slowly.

"Prongs?" Sirius whispered, hating to seem unsure but unable to believe his eyes.

"Take it, Sirius," James replied softly, his eyes locked on Fudge. "Take it and do what has to be done."

Deep breath. "All right."

He could hardly imagine working _for_ Fudge and Umbridge; working with them had been bad enough. But if James needed him to…Sirius would do it. Their new "Minister" was bound to make a hash out of everything, no matter who was helping him; however, there still had to be someone to put the world together after Fudge let it all fall apart. That would be James, but Sirius would help him where he could.

Reluctantly, Sirius stepped forward to join the other department heads, hardly noticing the scattered applause coming from the crowd. They'd not acknowledged any of Fudge's other appointments, but choosing James' best friend made Fudge look magnanimous. On the outside, it looked like a smooth transition. A happy one.

_If only they knew what price this _peace _comes at, _Sirius thought darkly. _If only they knew that Voldemort probably doesn't mean a word of it. Probably. _Something cold wrapped itself around his sternum and held on tight. Wherever Fudge's power play ended, it would not be good.

The crowd was surprisingly quiet, mostly glancing at James then Fudge and then back again. Ever since Dumbledore's death, the wheelchair bound James Potter had become a living icon in the Wizarding World. Despite his disability, he'd been a fiery leader whose words could inspire the ordinary to be extraordinary. Many people had kept fighting simply on the strength of his promise that a better day would come—what would they do now?

"Mister Potter!" Skeeter again, of course. "Do you have anything to add? Any objections? Surely you've—"

"I have nothing to add." A stranger would not have seen the furious pain burning in James' eyes, but Sirius knew him too well. He couldn't spare more than a quick glance at his old friend—Sirius was still amongst _Fudge's _supporters and bound to act impassive—but he again yearned to reach out. James would bury his frustration, and it wasn't good for him…but there was nothing Sirius or anyone else could do except try to make the world right.

"Are you certain?" Leah Lackey, a new _Daily Prophet _reporter, shouted.

"Certain," James replied coolly. "What is done is done."

_What is done is done. _Sirius shivered. _And may the world forgive us when it fails.

* * *

_

The Other Author's Note: I apologize again for the long wait (I always seem to be doing that!) but the potent combination of Real Life and _Half-Blood Prince _stole me away. This chapter is fully HBPized, and the rest of the UU will be following shortly. I've just finished off the editing process in _Promises Unbroken, Promises Remembered_, and _Promises Defended_, so look for updated versions of every chapter in all three stories during the next week. However, as you can probably guess, reposting **ninety-five** chapters ain't done in a day, so they'll come piecemeal. Look for me to start with PU tomorrow.

As always, thanks for reading, and stay tuned for PD15: Choose Again this week. I promise. I really do. The chapter is finished and ready for betaing—a three week underway played hell with my posting, but I got a lot of writing done. So please let me know what you think, and stick with me!


	16. Chapter 15: Choose Again

_Quick Chapter Note: Language Warning._

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* * *

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**Promises Defended**

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* * *

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_Chapter Fifteen: Choose Again_

* * *

She watched them dump the body into the mass grave without so much as a second look; she'd heard a nonchalant Death Eater call it "the Pit" the day before and had been disgusted. Now, though, Tonks had become numb to the cruelty. She felt bad about that, but it was hard not to be after watching so many bodies go into that putrid and uncovered hole right in the middle of Hogwarts' courtyard. After a while, one just…hardened. 

Obviously, her enemies had gone even colder than she had, because two children had delivered the late Professor Vector's body into the grave, and no one in their right and caring mind would send children to carry out such a grisly task. Even if they were seventh years and probably already recipients of the Dark Mark.

_Great_. Tonks grimaced at the thought. At that age, she'd been worried about passing her N.E.W.T.s and getting that Gringotts job she'd wanted so badly. She'd been concerned with making her parents proud, and maybe with avoiding the less savory members of her mother's family. Nothing more. At seventeen, these two Death Eater offspring were killing good people. Had she not been an Auror, that fact would have been enough to make her sick. _I wish I weren't so jaded already, _she thought. _Was the world always so dark, or is it that I'm seeing it through shadowed eyes?_ Forcing herself to shrug, Tonks turned back to her log.

Ten o'clock in the morning and all was the same. No further arrivals, new departures. She frowned slightly. Even Voldemort's nightly attacks had ceased; ever since he'd taken Hogwarts, the Death Eaters had seemed content to lie still and celebrate. Tonks hadn't expected that, but she hadn't really expected _any _of this in the first place. It mostly figured.

Minutes ticked by, and the sun grew slowly in the winter sky. The Aurors had been watching Hogwarts since the previous afternoon, taking four hour shifts and rotating through one by one. Most of the lookouts were full-fledged Aurors with their protégées, but Bill had to go _somewhere _at midnight, and he hadn't come back when it was time to leave. That had left Tonks standing watch by herself, but Alice had just smiled and said she'd do fine. On one hand, such confidence was warming, but on the other, Tonks would much rather have had her Mentor there. At least he could have given her someone to talk to.

_One more hour_. Tonks would never have thought four hours could feel so long. Two hundred and forty minutes. Fourteen thousand four hundred seconds. Forever, it seemed, crouched or lying on her stomach in the trees closest to the main gates. She'd had to walk there from the outer edge of the Forbidden Forest, which had been mildly pleasant (if a tad unsettling), but trudging back held no allure whatsoever. It would take her almost an hour to get back to Avalon _after _she was relieved, and Tonks was sure that she'd walk straight into a full day of work. At this rate, it was going to be one hell of a long week.

A dark figure crossed the courtyard as she watched. The dim light made recognizing a face difficult, but Tonks would have known the arrogant stride anywhere. She'd watched it daily for seven years, and though she'd respected the man attached to the cold face and dark glare, she'd never liked him.

Rumors of his role in Hogwarts' fall certainly weren't helping _that_, either.

But she watched as he approached the Pit, noticing that his steps seemed oddly businesslike; most of the others approached either reluctantly or gleefully. There'd not been a middle ground—until Snape.

He stopped at the edge of the hole, looking down with mechanical motions. A long moment passed as he stood there, his hands clasped behind his back. Finally, Snape's wand emerged, and dirt began filling the hole.

_Paying his respects?_ Tonks wondered with surprise. She'd not thought Snape to be the type, but what other purpose could he have? She doubted that such orders came from Voldemort, who seemed to view the pit as a public relations statement, or maybe just indication of his respect for his enemies. _Lack of respect, more like._But Snape was not acting like the others. Maybe, Tonks reflected, things weren't quite as met the eye. It wouldn't be the first time the Aurors had been wrong about someone.

Snape walked away before the hole filled, vanishing back into the castle. No one seemed to notice his small act of—kindness?—but Tonks was glad for it. Sometimes even the smallest actions were important.

* * *

He quickened his pace. Running late wasn't a habit Snape liked to cultivate, but sometimes doing so was unavoidable. Even when one worked for Lord Voldemort—but _this _master would not understand the necessity of covering up that mass grave. He'd not even accept the hygienic reasons; not with magic available to counter prospective diseases. Still, Severus would take his chances. Perhaps he was getting sentimental in his old age, but some things just had to be done. Thankfully, he stepped inside the hallway (via an old passage parallel to the dungeons that no one ever used) thirty seconds before Voldemort. 

"My Lord." He bowed low, but wasn't about to kneel in this filthy hallway. Black robes showed dirt entirely too well.

"Severus."

A slight nod, and he was gestured forward. Together, they stepped through the decayed doors, with Severus wisely a half-step behind his master and to the left. Old formalities still mattered to some.

The ancient words above the door frame were barely visible through the dust. _"Leve fit, quod bene fertur, onus."_ A good philosophy.

A cold chill ran down Severus' spine; he'd never been beyond the Founder's Door, had never wanted to. He had inspected almost ever millimeter of the Hogwarts' grounds and castle, but never here. The popular legend had kept him away, even when his students muttered about the mysteries and wallowed about in the dust. Severus Snape was rarely interested in the obsessions of others.

"What do you know of this place?" For a moment, it appeared that Lord Voldemort could read his mind—Severus quickly checked his own defenses—though he could not.

"Almost nothing, Master." At least he could answer truthfully.

"Which is?"

Five steps into the room, and Severus could almost feel something building, something growing. Reaching. Power?

"Just the legends," he muttered, wishing he dared cast a diagnostic spell. There was a different sense to this room, unlike any magic he had ever encountered. _What are you? _Something deeper than knowledge spurred the thought.

_Crack. _A table shattered, but Severus kept his attention on the illusive feeling.

"And this?" Voldemort's voice was suddenly sharp, and Snape refocused on him.

The Dark Lord was standing over a rusted grate, looking down. The former table lay in pieces on either side of the grate, strewn about like a careless three-year-old's toys. But Voldemort stared down. At the grate.

"I have never seen it, My Lord," he replied frankly.

Snape stepped over, looked down, and immediately realized why Voldemort was so transfixed by the grate. _No, not the mere barrier.__ That means nothing. _Rather, the Dark Lord stared at what lay beneath the rusted metal—swirling circles of light, flickering in and out between invisible and brilliant. The power he'd sensed lurking was _there_. His eyes took a moment to adjust, but then Severus realized that he wasn't looking at anything in a liquid form. This was simply air. Magic.

"My God." He spoke without realizing. To his right, Voldemort nodded, seemingly just as unconsciously.

"The mystery is explained," the Dark Lord breathed, sounding as close to wondrous as Severus had ever heard him. "So much makes sense now."

Indeed it did. Hogwarts was the most unique magical environment in the world, both alive and latent with power. Many had wondered what made the school so, but now Severus knew. _If I was Salazar Slytherin, where would I have decided to build my school? _Severus resisted the urge to smile. Right on top of a Font of Power, of course. And this had to be one of the fabled Fonts, written of only in legend and the oldest of history books. The last had supposedly vanished over one thousand years ago…which, come to think about it, was just about right.

It was brilliant. _And—! _

"Lupin tapped into it," he said with surprise.

Cool eyes turned to study him. "You did not know?"

"No, Master. I did not."

"Interesting." No disbelief, just a soft and thoughtful tone of voice. "I wonder…"

Silence, and then when Severus could stand the wait no longer (you could dare a lot more when in an intellectual conversation with Voldemort; he respected intelligence above almost anything else): "My Lord?"

"'How' is the question, Severus." He returned to studying the hole, a faint frown on his face. "But it does solve the other mysteries."

"That it does." Except one.

_Remus, how did you know?_

He wanted to groan or just to bury his face into his hands. Severus had been at Hogwarts for _years _longer than Remus, and had thought he knew everything about the school, even the darkest secrets. Dumbledore had tru—_Dumbledore!_

"Dumbledore told him," Severus blurted out, almost without meaning to. But it didn't matter. Voldemort would know, soon enough. "He must have."

Voldemort snorted. "For years the world thought he was so extraordinary. So powerful." He sneered. "Now we know the truth."

Severus nodded mutely, unable to find an appropriate response. He had to agree, of course. In a way, Voldemort _was_ right. The secret of the Font did explain a great deal about Dumbledore's legendary powers. _But that doesn't change who he was. Even you can't do that.

* * *

_

"It should be dawn by now," Bill said quietly. Tonks was on her way back, (probably trudging irritably through the Forbidden Forest by now) and Cornelia had embarked on some harebrained study project or another that Frank had put her up to.

"Over an hour ago, actually," Frank replied. "Even this time of year."

There were no stars, even. The two could hardly see one another in what Bill had thought was the predawn darkness. Frank appeared to be frowning, but it was almost impossible to tell.

"When do you think dawn will break?"

His companion hissed out a breath. "I'm not sure it will."

"Me neither," Bill replied, sighing. He didn't know enough about the island—not nearly enough to even hazard a guess about what was happening—but intuition was raising alarms. "Let's walk to the beach."

"Any of them." It wasn't a question.

"Yeah."

They walked slowly, careful not to trip over anything in the dark. Avalon was a well settled island, having been populated for as far back in history as Bill could tell…but the odd and unexpected often happened on the Aurors' Island, and they weren't trained to be careless. Bill led, weaving his way through the minefield by memory, and then surmounted the final rise. Somehow, what he found could not surprise him.

Huge waves crashed into the beach, rolling over the sand as if they meant to sweep the island away. Bill squinted a little—there were even less stars along the horizon here—and guessed that the waves were at least fifteen feet high. _Maybe more._He didn't know much about weather, but Bill knew that was strange…even for winter in the north. That was especially true for Avalon, whose weather didn't follow the seasons anyway. Bad weather always meant bad tidings. Darkness.

"You think it's a coincidence that Fudge deposed James yesterday?" Frank asked.

Bill felt cold. "I wish."

"We need to tell Sirius about this when he gets back," Frank added. His voice grew cold. "Whenever that is."

"Yeah."

"You think it'll stay like this?"

"I hope not." Bill had to shrug. "But if it does, what does that tell us?"

"I wish I knew, Bill." A wry smile, barely visible in the gloom. "Though I don't think I want to."

* * *

Lily and James stayed behind after the others left, looking blankly around the old Muggle warehouse. Moments before, the abandoned building had been almost full—every member of the Order of the Phoenix who could make it had been there, except for the Aurors. They were being watched closely enough without risking this. 

Sirius, also, was not present, but his was a different reason. Stuck in a "planning meeting," he'd been unable to even send a message, but both Potters knew what Fudge was doing. It was a foolish attempt to wean Sirius away from his friends, and was easily noticeable.

"I still think you should have—" Lily started, only to have James cut her off.

"No. I'd rather lie low for now." His voice was flat.

"James…" she sighed. "This isn't your fault. It's political maneuvering, that's all. As usual, Fudge is more concerned with his own power than what's right."

James swallowed. He was exhausted, Lily knew, having tossed and turned and not slept all night long. The rushed Order of the Phoenix meeting that morning had only made things worse. "Yes, but—"

"But nothing, James." Lily twisted to face him. "You were right. Don't second guess yourself. Voldemort can't be allowed to hold Hogwarts. Look at the panic it caused today."

A pregnant silence followed her words, and then her husband finally shrugged.

"I guess you're right. But you handled it well."

"Thanks." She smiled wanly. "I wish I didn't have to."

"Yeah."

Remus' capture had torn a hole in the Order's organization that even Dumbledore's passing hadn't caused. Then, the transition had been fairly smooth, but Remus had no heir apparent, no fallback position. Normally, James could have filled the void as Minister of Magic, but yesterday's events had left him feeling drained and seeming somewhat tainted in the eyes of the world. More importantly, he needed to step back, needed time to get his bearings once more. Looking at him now, Lily could see what she'd missed before.

So she had moved forward. She'd assumed the leadership position that she'd never wanted to and had tried to sooth the fears felt by her fellow Order members. Her efforts had some effect, though not enough; volunteers had been few and far between even after the Order had voted to work to free Hogwarts. Still, they had time—a little—and those who had volunteered were good people. They'd find a way to get the job done.

"Let's go home," she said, cutting her own thought short.

"Godric's Hollow?" James asked, mockingly hopeful. Lily had to smile sadly as she moved behind his chair.

"I wish," she breathed.

James glanced up at her, and she saw the old determination creep back into his eyes. "Someday," he promised. "Somehow."

"Someday."

* * *

"What would happen if I threw you in?" Voldemort asked idly. Remus had been thrown into a decaying chair and was glad for the opportunity to rest his sore arms; he wasn't moving. Not drawing attention to the fact that he probably could was the safest course of action, too, so he only shrugged slightly. Tiredly. 

"Not much," he replied truthfully, waiting for the wand to rise.

It didn't; Voldemort just arched one quizzical eyebrow. "Oh?"

Remus shrugged again, inventorying injuries. His body could have been in worse shape…but it still hurt more than even his worst transformations.

"Should I try, then?" the Dark Lord asked with a hungry smile.

"The grate's locked," Remus pointed out.

"So you think." The long yew wand flicked in the direction of the grate, but Dumbledore's handiwork did not budge. First one muttered spell and then a second failed, and the amused smile melted into anger. After the third spell, burning red eyes turned on Remus.

_"Crucio!"_

Fire encased him, and Remus screamed. Every nerve in his battered body objected to the treatment, and pain stole his awareness. He was still distantly conscious of his surroundings, but the longer the pain went on, the more days that passed, the less focused Remus became. That reaction was perfectly normal, but it worried him; Remus had become accustomed to the strange awareness, comfortable with the split ability to think and to feel. However, the pain was rarely too much for him to handle; it was the exhaustion that ate away at him. As the spell ended he slumped, surprised to find himself still in the chair.

"Can you open it?" the dangerous voice asked. Distantly, Remus noticed that the wand had lowered.

No point in lying. "Yes."

"Open it."

"No." His voice was slightly raspy, but not too bad.

The wand came up. "Now."

"No."

"Do you want to die, Lupin?" Voldemort demanded, sounding furious. Remus had never seen him like this, and though he expected that a horrible temper lurked beneath the calm, he'd never thought it would come up so fast.

"Not particularly," he replied. Then he smiled. _Why not?_ "But you'll have to ask a lot nicer than that."

Something in the red eyes danced. Burned. _"Crucio!"_

After a few moments, the world went dark.

* * *

"I want to help," Julia said quietly, sitting cross-legged on Sirius' couch. She'd been there when the Potters returned, and when Lily had asked how she'd gotten into Grimmauld Place, she'd only answered that Sirius had shown her years ago. Apparently, even Mrs. Black had approved of her—a lot more than she approved of her son. 

"You already have, you know," Lily replied, still caught a bit off guard.

"Not enough."

Lily shrugged awkwardly. "Nothing is _ever _enough."

"Too true." Julia smiled a bit, looking just as uncertain as Lily felt. Somehow, the expression softened that classic but cold Malfoy beauty, made it more human. "But I want to do more. Openly."

"Openly?" she blurted out.

"Yes. I'm sick of hiding and staying in the shadows," was the blunt reply.

"That could kill you, Julia. Especially since you were a Death Eater."

"So? Risk hasn't stopped anyone else, and being a spy was worse." Her gray eyes darkened. "Besides, I'm not risking anything I really stand to lose."

"Don't say that," Lily replied a bit sharper than she'd intended.

Julia, however, shrugged. "Why not?" Then she smiled sadly. "There's only one future for me after this war, Lily, and the sooner we end it, the more likely that future is to remain alive."

How could one argue with that? Not very well, even if Lily didn't like the fatalist viewpoint. "I understand what you mean." She paused, wishing Remus was there. He would have handled this so much better. "What can you do?"

"I was Voldemort's searcher, his explorer. It kept me out of a lot of the…darker aspects of being a Death Eater, but it also meant that I traveled the world," she replied, "I met a lot of people for him, forging—if not alliances, at least truces. I can do that for you."

Her eyebrows shot up; the possibilities were endless. "Keep talking," Lily ordered.

"Some of them won't agree with you. A lot of old Wizarding communities—especially the Egyptians—agree with Voldemort about purity and isolation. But some don't." Julia paused. "The Russians, probably, would come down on our side. So might most of Asia, if we phrase it right, though the Chinese think like the Egyptians. Incredibly ancient and biased."

"I don't think I've ever even looked past Europe," Lily replied honestly.

Julia smiled a bit. "Most people don't. Europe is hard enough to deal with as it is." She shrugged. "Besides, most other countries won't get involved no matter what we say…though I think Russia, Switzerland, and America _might_. Especially Switzerland. They've got an excellent Special Action Team, their equivalent of the Aurors."

"I had no idea."

"Me neither, till I got chased by a squad of them." Julia laughed. "I borrowed an artifact they didn't want stolen." Lily, too, caught herself chuckling. She'd never known Julia well; their social circles had been anything but the same at Hogwarts and later in life. Still, she _liked _Julia, and respected what she was trying to do and had done. Sometimes, Lily thought it took more courage for a pureblooded witch to fight Voldemort than it did for a Mudblood to do the same. They had so much more to lose.

"That bad, huh?" she finally asked.

Julia grinned. "Only if you get caught.

"And you didn't, of course."

"Once." Julia sobered a bit. "Lucius had to bail me out. That wasn't in Switzerland."

"Bad?" Lily asked.

"Not really." Hers companion shrugged again. "Not pleasant, but not bad, either. Lucius was obnoxious enough about it for years."

"I can imagine." She really couldn't, but what else could one say? Lucius Malfoy wasn't someone she could imagine having as a big brother. "Anyway, I can't give you a concrete answer yet, not until Remus comes back." _Whenever that is._

Julia nodded, obviously hearing the unspoken thought. "That's understandable. It'll take me awhile to start contacting people, though so if I can start now…?"

"Do it," Lily said decisively, half-wondering what she was getting Julia into. Still, she'd asked, and what else was there to do? The war went on, even with Remus in Voldemort's hands. _Don't think of that right now._

They exchanged a few more irrelevant pleasantries, and then Julia left. Lily watched her go, biting her lip and thinking of what the war cost their world already in terms of hope. _"While there is life, there is hope." _Who had said that? Some Muggle writer, perhaps, but she could not remember. Despite all that had happened, Lily had been lucky. She still had her family, her closest friends—except Dumbledore.

_Don't think of that, either._

Except it was too late, and she still burned for revenge. For victory. More than anything, Lily wanted to make the world right…but if she could avenge Albus Dumbledore's death while she was at it, that was just fine with her.

* * *

He couldn't taint James with this, and he _certainly _couldn't take James with him. Another Auror was out of the question; one Auror could be a rogue, but two were a conspiracy, especially with one of them as Sirius Black. Lily was a possibility, but her presence would incriminate James, too. What he really needed was another Animagi, someone else who could—_Peter_. Would Peter go? It was far from his area of expertise; Peter was no warrior, and would be quick to tell anyone who asked. Would he go? 

_In a heartbeat._

"…so what you have to realize is that we can't continue to fight the war at this rate. We just can't," Fudge was saying. "Statistics just aren't in our favor."

Sirius tuned back in. His marathon long session with Fudge and Umbridge was on its sixth hour, and if he had to listen to the Toad Woman say "hem, hem" one more time, he'd put his head through that wall. _Preferably through that awful painting, _Sirius thought nastily. _Where _did _Fudge get that?_ The day-old Minister had already ruined James' office.

"You are the only man on our side who knows He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named well," Little Fool went on. "You've got the best chance of getting through to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named in any form of—"

"Voldemort," Sirius cut him off. "It's only a name. You won't die if you say it."

Fudge blanched, blubbered for a moment, and went on. "_As _I was saying—"

Sirius interrupted again, not wanting to hear the end. "Having courage isn't that hard, Fudge," he said flatly. "You only have to teach yourself not to be afraid."

"Hem, _hem_."

_Painting, here I come!_ Sirius smiled sweetly at Toad Woman. "Yes?"

"The minister was speaking," Umbridge replied primly.

"So was I." He shrugged. "Besides, I know exactly what he's going to say."

"Oh, do you?" Toad Woman asked sharply.

"Yup," Sirius replied cheerfully, turning to stare at Fudge. "You're going to ask me to go as your envoy to Lord Voldemort. To talk peace. What you're going to neglect to mention is the separate deal you've brokered with the help of Toad Woman here, in which I am the bargaining chip you trade to buy peace." He spat out the last word.

"You're also neglecting to mention—through no fault of your own—that Voldemort won't bother with peace. He may not even bother killing me, but that's another story entirely. What he will do is prosecute the war straight to the end, and without me to stop him, _Cornelius_, you're fucked." He killed the mocking smile.

"Completely fucked."

"I—I would never do such a thing!" Little Fool replied, probably more shocked by Sirius' use of profanity than anything else.

"Sure you wouldn't," Sirius replied easily. "Are we done here?"

"No, we aren't _done_!" Little Fool sputtered, going red.

Sirius rose.

"Hem, he—"

"Will you stop saying that? It gives me a headache."

Toad Woman glared, but Sirius ignored her and strode over to the exit. Only once he had opened the expensive looking door did he look back. "I won't be your errand boy, Fudge, and I won't be your tool." Sirius inclined his head slightly. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I've work to do and a school to free."

"I already told you that the Aurors—" Fudge started, his voice cracking like a boy going through puberty.

"The Aurors can't act. I know." Sirius stepped out. "And they won't. Good day."

_Click_. The door snapped shut, and he could hear Little Fool and Toad Woman shouting on the other side. Sirius did not look back.

* * *

Screaming from the courtyard. It sounded like Shacklebolt. 

Severus and Lucius exited the castle at a studiously casual pace. Both were curious, but appearances had to be maintained—especially here, as Death Eater politics were of the nastiest sort. That, of course, was why they walked together, proving that Severus' recent elevation did not change their relationship. Still, playing the game took time, time that Kingsley Shacklebolt might not have. His screams were quieting ominously.

There was already a crowd when they strolled into the courtyard, watching and laughing as young Marcus Flint screeched:

"You want to kill my father, you dirty Mudblood? You think it makes you powerful to kill a Death Eater? You think—"

"Curse him again, Marcus!" Everard, another seventh year, shouted.

_"Crucio!"_Young Flint thundered. _Anger and pain, _Severus thought dispassionately. _A powerful combination._

Shacklebolt screamed, but not nearly so loudly. The big man was already battered and bleeding—an Auror was always a favorite target for Voldemort's followers—or else he'd have been more than a match for the young man whose father he'd clearly killed during his escape attempt. The curse wore off quickly, though. Flint didn't have the strength or practice to hold it longer.

"Do it again!" another student yelled; Severus did not catch who.

"Interesting," Lucius purred.

Flint obliged the onlookers again. _"Crucio!"_

"Wasteful," Severus retorted, moving forward and shouldering his way through the crowd. Most were students, but even the adults gave way as Shacklebolt writhed weakly on the ground. Finally, Severus reached Flint's sides. He grabbed the boy's wand arm, forcing it aside. Thankfully, spoiling Flint's aim stopped the spell. With a more powerful wizard, the Cruciatus Curse would have merely redirected.

"That's enough, Mister Flint," he said coolly, dragging the young man aside.

"But he—"

_"Enough."_

Flint had been Severus' student for eight years. If nothing else, the edge in Severus' voice stopped him.

Seconds later, the story poured out. Blubbering, Flint told of his father's careless moment, Shacklebolt's escape, and Lloyd Flint's dead body lying on the dungeon floor. The broken neck hadn't killed him _quite _instantaneously, but a nearby Dementor and shock more than made up for that. Rodolphus had stopped Shacklebolt, of course—even weakened, an Auror would have torn through young Flint like a dagger through paper. Then Rodolphus had stepped back and let Flint play. _Sick bastard.__ He's not old enough for this._

_And what were you doing at his age Severus?_

Unconsciously, his right hand twitched towards the left and Severus had to make an effort to stop it. He'd taken the Mark at seventeen. Flint was now eighteen, having been held back a year for poor academic performance. Still, he seemed far younger than Severus had ever felt.

"Come inside," he ordered, pulling Flint along. Voldemort was watching now from the back edge of the crowd, but no one else had noticed him…even Lucius. Severus chose to continue as if he had not, towing Flint towards the castle.

Along the way, he speared Bellatrix with a cool glare. "Take your toy back to where it belongs."

"Of course, Severus." She giggled, stepping over to kick Shacklebolt where he lay. The Auror moaned. Severus did not look back.

* * *

The chain around his neck was unusually loose, though not so much that Remus could slip it over his head. Besides, he lacked the energy to try—his session with Voldemort by the Font had been exhausting, not to mention painful. Still, he was feeling better than he ought to have been, and that was something. A grim smile crossed his face. Doing so hurt, but felt good. Remus had won. The Font was still his secret, and Hogwarts was still safe. _Until you break_, a traitorous voice in his head whispered. _Until then._

Remus gave himself a mental shake. Sirius had lasted for ten years; he could too, if he had to. Pain was only pain, after all. Sirius _had _been right about that. Loneliness was what killed you, but Remus knew that his friends would not leave him, not for long. He'd be rescued or he would die. _Did Sirius once think that way?_ Remus had to swallow. Why was Sirius always the metric for this? No matter. He'd hold out. _Tell yourself that after the full moon, _the voice reminded him_. Forty-eight hours._

Almost exactly, too. There was no light in the dungeons, but Remus had started to discern a pattern. Bellatrix came in the morning, before breakfast. Rodolphus liked evenings. Midday was reserved for the Dark Lord when he desired. Night was for the Dementors.

So this was night. Dementors were lurking, and Death Eaters stayed clear. Except—voices.

"Tell me of the prophecy." Soft, almost a hiss. Voldemort.

"I don't…I don't know." Trelawney had been whimpering for so long that Remus had unconsciously tuned her out. Now she gasped for air.

"Don't you?"

Bellatrix's giggle, Bellatrix's voice. _"Crucio!"_

Trelawney did not even scream. Was she that far gone? Remus shivered, hoping he was wrong. _She's just weak. They won't let her die. She's too useful, knows too much_. She was still whimpering weakly, gasping for air.

_Doesn't she?_

"I don't know…what prophecies…" she whispered when it ended.

_I know what they're talking about_, Remus suddenly realized, feeling cold. _But _she _can't. She doesn't remember._

"_Offenvox_" Trelawney groaned as Bellatrix giggled again. "Answer the question, fraud!"

"I don't…_know!_" Trelawney whined, wheezing.

"She's fading fast," Lucius Malfoy's dispassionate voice.

Bellatrix continued to giggle. "Do you care?"

Remus could almost hear Malfoy's shrug, and he _could _hear that Malfoy was right. Sybil Trelawney was dying. He swallowed hard, his early confidence fading fast. _Will they let her die?_ Voldemort answered that question immediately.

"Keep pushing," he commanded coldly. Remus heard footsteps; he was walking away.

_"Formidilosus!"_

Moan.

_"Carnificius!"_

"I don't…"

Giggle. "Perhaps you will now! _Crucio!"_

A short scream, and then whimpering.

Laughter.

Whisper.

_"Formidilosus!"_

Moan. "I…"

Giggle. "You what?" It sounded like Bellatrix was dancing.

"…don't…" And then the voice changed, still raspy and weak, but somehow strong. _"**The dark end approaches… Fate now balances upon the edge, dependant upon the choice of four friends. Yet while four will walk, one must stand… One alone must challenge the darkness before the dawn … For the choice has been his, and strength does not come from power alone…strength lies in what remains when all hope is gone… One has chosen, and one must choose again… The darkness encroaches, and he who made the choice can bring the end. He who made the choice upon shall all depend… The end approaches…"**_

She trailed off. _Thump_. Was Bellatrix shaking her? "Say that again!" the torturer demanded.

"No need." A cool and soft voice, entirely too unsurprised. "She's dead."

* * *

The Other Author's Note: I'm still working on reposting all of PU/PR/PD, but I'm now in Rhode Island with dialup internet for a school that the Navy has sent me to. The good news is that this means I'll have more time to write; the bad, of course, is that dialup is _slow_. Regardless, here's PD15, and stay tuned for Chapter Sixteen: **"The Marauders' Revenge,"** which is—I promise—one of the best chapters in the entire trilogy. So, please drop me a review and say what you think. You never know, but motivating me might make the next chapter go up on Friday or Saturday. Or even before. 


	17. Chapter 16: The Marauders' Revenge

_Language warning continues. Sirius swears under pressure.

* * *

_

**Promises Defended**

**

* * *

**

_Chapter Sixteen: The Marauders' Revenge_

* * *

Day six. Millicent Bulstrode was looking at him with frightened eyes. "Will he kill our parents, Professor Snape?"

Five minutes before the feast, the _Leaving _Feast, when the non-Death Eater Slytherins' parents were permitted to come pick up their children. "The Dark Lord is generous, Ms. Bulstrode," Severus replied coolly. "You need not fear."

"Yes, sir." And Bulstrode went off, back to her parents, one former Slytherin and one former Ravenclaw, as Severus remembered. They'd not been too many years ahead of him, and both had remained well clear of the war in any form.

The ploy was brilliant, really, inviting the other Slytherins' parents to dinner and sitting them down with amicable Death Eaters in a safe and welcoming environment. And then, of course, the other children could go home. Unharmed. Well fed. Cheerful.

Their parents, on the other hand, might start to wonder. Voldemort would be polite, even charming—there was still that much humanity left in him, because he could indeed be charismatic—and they would wonder. Was he so evil, or might he not be right? Indeed, they would wonder. Results might take months to develop, but Severus had to admire Voldemort's audacity.

The children were laughing already, happy to be amongst friends and family. Relieved to be finally and assuredly safe. The non-Death Eater offspring had been isolated from the bloodshed and cruelty, having been encouraged to stay within their common room and dorm rooms unless they were especially interested. Severus did not regret the idea now, either; every one of them was still alive, and if they had been bored and lonely, at least their innocence remained intact. For now.

-------------------------

"What do you mean we've pulled back from Hogwarts?" Clearwater demanded.

"Jason…" Hestia's voice was hoarse, lethargic.

"No. Not this time," he snapped back, glaring at his Mentor. "There are still students and professors there. We can't leave them."

Alice sighed tiredly. "Two professors are left. That's all." She grimaced. "The other students should be leaving now. Those who don't…well, we can't save them from their own parents."

"Do you believe that bullshit?" Clearwater demanded.

"Jason—!" Cornelia Crouch picked up where Hestia Jones was too drained to go.

"He's right," Calvin Waters interjected; Clearwater looked triumphant. "This 'Leaving Feast' has to be a trap."

"Not likely," Sirius responded, reentering the conversation for the first time since he'd broken the news to the other Aurors. "He's smarter than that."

"Yeah, right," Waters muttered. His Mentor glared, but Sirius ignored the silent exchange, sighing.

"The Aurors are barred from acting against Hogwarts. As I'm sure you heard, the new government has decided to give peace a chance." Angry frowns. "Until then, we must wait."

"What about Shacklebolt?" Dana Lockhart asked. "And Lupin?" Trelawney's death had been all over the papers; Voldemort had been fearless enough to announce that she'd died 'trying to escape.' A dreadful accident.

"We wait." Sirius resisted the urge to grind his teeth in fury.

"But—" Someone started.

"We _wait_."

-------------------------

_January 19, 1993_

**SEVEN DAYS AND ALL IS QUIET**

_By _Robert Moon_, Special Correspondent_

News started flooding out of Hogwarts last night with the release

of every child whose parents do not ardently follow He-Who-

Must-Not-Be-Named. In an oddly charitable gesture, the leader

of the Death Eaters hosted a banquet at Hogwarts School of

Witchcraft and Wizardry, and allowed the uninvolved students

and parents to leave unmolested.

At the same time, his spokesman Lucius Malfoy (openly a Death

Eater for the first time, though suspected for many years)

revealed several other details. Among them was the surprise

death of Sybil Trelawney, tragically slain in a botched escape

attempt.

"We regret the accident that caused Professor Trelawney's

death," Malfoy said earnestly. "Our Dementor slipped out from

under control. It won't happen again."

Malfoy goes on to detail that Hogwarts is safe and may even

reopen soon, depending upon how quickly peace negotiations

move forward. "The Dark Lord is neither capricious nor holding a

grudge," the senior Death Eater says. "He understands how

important Hogwarts is to is to magical Britain, and he has no

desire to deprive qualified children of their education."

These are encouraging words. For six days the Wizarding World

has quaked in fear, worrying over the fate of Hogwarts. Now,

however, those uncertainties seem groundless. Desire for peace

on both sides—from He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and Minster

Fudge's new government—seems to be cooling down the

twenty-some year long war, and perhaps an end is forthcoming.

-------------------------

His last visitor had came midnight: a drunk Rodolphus Lestrange who had not been coherent enough to cast a sobering spell on himself, let alone torture Remus. He'd ranted about missing his brother for awhile and then stumbled out. Nothing else. And no one else had come.

It was entirely too quiet.

So Remus lay in the darkness by himself, shivering periodically and trying not to think about moonrise. He heard Kingsley scream a few times while hung-over Death Eaters went about their sport, but no one opened his door. Were they waiting for Voldemort, or did they fear the full moon? Remus suspected the latter, but was glad for the time. His lycanthropy meant that his body healed faster than most, and every moment of time he had before moonrise made the eventual transformation less painful. The problem was that Remus didn't really fear the pain. He'd dealt with that for more than half of his life. Unfortunately, he'd been taking Wolfsbane Potion for almost ten years, and Remus was dependant on it. He did not fear pain, just loss of control. And there was no way around it.

Tonight, he'd lose himself.

-------------------------

_January 19, 1993_

**SEVEN DAYS OF HELL**

_By _Rita Skeeter_, Special Correspondent_

This morning, the learned reporter and former House of Slytherin

member Robert Moon published the reassuring article "Seven

Days and All is Quiet." This article described the peaceful

condition of Hogwarts, and spoke confidently about the end of

the war.

What Moon neglected to mention is what _else _is happening at

Hogwarts. Many students were released into the care of their

parents yesterday, and public reports have been in You-Know-

Who's favor, but private remarks tell differently. All is _not _well.

Anonymous students (fearful for their lives and those of their

families) tell ghastly tales of torture and bloodshed, particularly in

the case of Headmaster Remus Lupin, the Wizarding World's

poster werewolf. Sources indicate that he has been mistreated

ever since the first moments of the attack, when he was stabbed

in the back by longtime-suspect Death Eater and Deputy

Headmaster Severus Snape.

Public reaction to Lupin's treatment has been furious—Remus

Lupin is well liked by parents and students alike, and Snape's

betrayal brought the Wizarding World to a boil. Furthermore, an

anonymous Death Eater specifies that Lupin is still being

tortured, for what reason no one seems to know.

Description of these atrocities is not permitted in such a family

based newspaper, but one can be sure that they are amongst

the worst the followers of You-Know-Who can offer.

Groundless fears? Peace? Humane treatment? Could

Hogwarts' suffering headmaster testify, I am sure we would hear

differently.

-------------------------

The Inner Council met in the same deserted warehouse that the entire Order had used only two days before, down by two members and feeling drained. The last week had been murderous for all of them: the Aurors were strung out and impatient, James, Peter and Lily were out of jobs, and everyone was worried about Hogwarts. _And Remus_, Sirius amended silently, glancing at the time. He didn't have long.

"All right," Lily said quietly, clearing her throat. "We'll know in a few hours if everything is a go, so I want to stand by to act unless there are any objections."

"I agree. I know I'll be there," James said, shooting Sirius an unhappy look. Sirius ignored it.

"No."

Heads twisted around. "What?" James managed.

"No," Sirius repeated. "We can't." He shrugged. "The Order, I mean."

"I fail to see why not," Lily said testily.

Sirius hated to do this. "Several reasons." He ticked them off on his fingers one by one. "First, you don't have enough people to succeed against all of the Death Eaters plus several dozen Dementors. Second, a few hours' organization isn't enough to plan a raid on a toy store. And finally, moving now will taint James irrevocably."

"So?" his friend retorted bitterly.

"_So_, when Fudge flubs this up beyond repair, someone needs to be there to pick up the pieces," Sirius replied. "That's you."

James glared.

"And Remus?" Peter asked quietly. That question, however, made Sirius smile wryly.

"I've got another idea for him."

"You can't free Hogwarts by yourself," Lily pointed out.

"I don't intend to." Sirius shrugged. "Currently, I intend to take a plan of action to Fudge—the meeting is in thirty minutes—for an attack tonight. I expect him to refuse."

"And the Aurors will go anyway," Bill put in grimly.

Sirius shook his head. "The Aurors will do nothing."

"Who will, then?" James demanded.

"Peter and I."

"What?" Peter's eyes went wide with shock, and he stared at Sirius, swallowing hard. Still, his voice hadn't squeaked the way it once would have, and sweat wasn't pouring down his face. Several long moments passed as the others looked blankly between Peter and Sirius, but the smaller man's eyes were focused. Finally, Wormtail spoke. "I mean, uh, yeah. We will."

Sirius winked at him. He was sorry to have dumped the idea on Peter like this, but there hadn't been another way. There just hadn't been time, and Peter understood—he really did. James, however, had turned slightly pink with anger. He wanted to object, but was clearly containing himself.

Lily eyed Sirius suspiciously. "You really think that an attack will fail?"

"Tonight? Yes," he replied honestly. "There's not enough time and not enough hope. Voldemort would win easily."

The other Aurors nodded, and even James had to…reluctantly. Lily bit her lip for a moment and then sighed again.

"No it is, then," she said softly. "We organize for an attack in two more days. Is that enough time for you?"

"Probably. I'll tell you after tonight."

Peter looked a shade green.

"All right."

-------------------------

Not twenty minutes later, he was in another meeting, this one far less friendly than the last. It didn't help that Sirius knew exactly what was going to happen, from outrage at Skeeters' (unusually factual) article to a burning and genuine desire to make peace work. The fools.

After an hour of discussion, Sirius struck.

"Peace isn't going to happen."

Mouths dropped open. Toad Woman went bright red.

"Not today," Sirius went on. "Not tomorrow. Not while Voldemort feels able to hold and torture two men whose only crime was trying to protect children. _Our _children." He glanced around the table; he had their attention. "That some of those children died can not be blamed upon the Remus Lupins and Kingsley Shacklebolts of this war. The responsibility for their deaths lies with Lord Voldemort. No one else.

"The Lupins and the Shacklebolts of this war are victims. They need _protection_, saving. I have been a victim, ladies and gentlemen. I know how it feels. I chose to fight back, to become an enemy—but not everyone can make that choice, and not all the time. Those who cannot are those we are obligated to protect." Sirius sat back in his chair, crossing his arms. "So. Are we going to?"

Paden Patil scowled. "Protecting innocents and attacking an enemy stronghold are two different—"

"Enemy?" Sirius bounced forward in his seat. "Enemy, you say? I thought Voldemort was supposed to be our friend."

"Now, see here—!" Fudge snapped, but Sirius smiled.

"Kind of a contradiction, isn't it?" he asked. "Now you tell me, Minister, who you want to be associated with. Tell me which side you're on."

"I am on the side of peace," Little Fool snapped, growing flustered.

Sirius lost his smile. "So am I. Peace through victory. Peace with justice. Peace with _honor_. Not through selling our souls by refusing to act."

"Refusal to act _today _is not a refusal to do so forever," Patil put in. "Not attacking precipitously is prudence. Nothing more."

"Cowardice, you mean."

Sirius let that statement smack into the table like a hammer. The resulting silence suddenly seemed very loud—no one wanted to reply.

"Not saving those within your power to save is the greatest of crimes," he continued. "James Potter tried to tell you that, and you refused to listen. I am here to tell you again. We must act, or become that which we have fought against for so long."

_Now I sound like James._

"Not so," Umbridge countered. "We would never stoop to that level."

"Wouldn't we?" Abner Bode asked, shocking everyone.

"Don't you see it?" Sirius asked earnestly, looking each in the eye and hoping for the first time. He had expected this plea to be futile, but now he felt the pull of his own words. There was a chance, if only they had the courage to take it. "If we move now, we can do this. The Aurors are ready. I can get a team in and out of there before Voldemort knows what happened."

"No." Fudge's tone made Sirius go cold, and he watched hope die. Felt it.

"We have to do this," he said quietly, rhythm lost.

"I am the Minister of Magic," Fudge retorted. "And I will decide what we _have _to do. The situation is well in hand. The attack is under consideration."

Sirius shook his head, suddenly drained by the emotion he'd exhibited. Darkness ate at the edges of his vision. "That isn't enough."

"Hem, hem," Umbridge put in primly. "You don't have a choice."

"Maybe I don't." Sirius rose. "But I don't have to be a part of this, either." _I knew it would come to this, so why am I so disappointed?_ "Good day."

As he walked towards the door, Amos Diggory objected: "You can't do that!"

Diggory sounded as frightened as he did offended, but Sirius did not bother to answer. Did not bother to care. Why try to help those who refused to help themselves? Distantly, Sirius heard Fudge speak as he stepped out:

"He'll be back. He's too much of a hero to leave."

-------------------------

They met in Peter's apartment, Sirius having let himself in without knocking. By the time Peter came out of the shower, Sirius was lounging on his couch.

"Making yourself at home?" the smaller man quipped.

"Yup." Peter had left the WWN going, and some new music group, the Fuzzy Cats, was on. They weren't bad, either. A bit loud, perhaps, but Sirius had always liked loud music.

"How are you so calm?" Wormtail demanded, toweling his hair dry. "I'm a bouncing bludger of jitters inside."

"You don't look it," Sirius replied approvingly—and Peter _didn't_. He'd grown out of the quivering and timid boy had had been and become something far greater.

"Thanks. I think."

Sirius smiled slightly and sat up, swinging his feet onto the floor to make room for Peter. "I guess I'm used to it," he admitted. "And there's nothing Voldemort can do to me that would scare me more than he's already done, anyway. Who I am scared for is Remus."

"Yeah." Peter plopped down on the couch. "Is it odd that I'm more frightened for him than I am for me? I'm supposed to be the coward."

"You aren't a coward, Peter."

He snorted, shrugged a bit. "Sure I am."

"No, you aren't." For a long moment, he stared at the far wall, almost wishing that he had Remus' gift of visions. Maybe then they could have seen this day coming as children, and might have known that Peter was the strongest of them all.

"You're crazy, Sirius."

The quiet moment broken, Sirius turned to grin at his friend. "Quite."

Peter shifted uneasily, clearly trying to smile. He managed a little. "A bloody lunatic, that's what you are."

"Are you ready?" He had to ask, but the words weren't really necessary.

"No." The other laughed shakily. "But it's me. I'll never be ready."

Sirius smiled again, this time gently. "You were ready years ago, Wormtail."

-------------------------

So much for them leaving him alone all day—clearly, the newly-sober Lestranges did not fear the wolf as much as Remus had hoped. In tandem, they had cursed and cursed and cursed, until Remus thought he'd surely go insane from the pain. He wouldn't be the first, of course. Horace Slughorn had. Edgar Bones had. Sirius must have come close, once or twice.

His thoughts were growing fuzzy, confused; Remus tried to concentrate, but the effort produced little affect. His vision cleared a bit, but his mind kept spinning. _Get it together, Moony, _a voice strangely like Sirius' echoed inside him. He must be going insane. _You aren't dead yet. _Swallow. Cough. Focus on Bellatrix's annoying voice if he liked to or not. Concentrate.

Slowly, the cell slid back into reality, moldy gray walls far too close to his face. Every time he came to, the cell felt smaller, colder. Remus had never been claustrophobic before, but now felt like a good time to start.

"Wakey, wakey little wolfie." He shouldn't have concentrated on her voice. The sound gave him a headache. "Today is going to be a _full _day."

She giggled as Rodolphus supplied: "And a longer night."

Remus grunted as Rodolphus' left boot planted itself somewhere in the vicinity of his small intestine. His eyes stayed focused on the far wall. One one thousand. Two one thousand. Three one thousand…

"Oh, is the wolfie sad?" Bellatrix inquired innocently. "However could that be?"

"The company," Remus rasped before her husband could answer, "is less than pleasing."

"Oooh!" she gasped, laughing harder. "It talks! The wittle wolfie whimpers!"

_Not quite._

"Perhaps it should scream," Rodolphus suggested. Remus grimaced, though he tried hard not to. He had vaguely hoped for a few hours of rest before the inevitable…but that was not to be. No such luck. These two would stretch it out until the end.

"Darling, you're brilliant." He heard the kiss she planted on Rodolphus' cheek. Sickeningly wet and sloppy sounding, it made Remus grimace again. Bellatrix giggled. "On three?"

_Brace yourself._

"Oh, yes."

Gleeful—he could almost hear her dancing as she cried, "Three!"

_"Crucio!"_

-------------------------

They Apparated into Hogsmeade together, which was a risky choice of destinations but smarter than the Forbidden Forest, where Voldemort was sure to be watching. Without a word, the pair started walking, their pace easy and relaxed, fighting to show none of the pressure or tension both felt. Sunset was just past, and the moon was growing round and full in the sky. At any moment, now Sirius expected to hear the telltale howl, but there had been nothing so far. Nothing and no one. The road through Hogsmeade was eerily empty, but they were on schedule.

"We're alone," Peter said quietly.

Sirius nodded. "That we are."

His old friend swallowed hard. "I never imagined it would be this way, you know. I always thought James—"

"James can't be here, and we both know why. Even if he _could _walk," Sirius reminded him gently. "Besides, you'll do fine."

"I know," Peter replied a bit reluctantly. "It's just…wrong. So wrong."

_Isn't everything?_ Sirius swallowed.

"Yeah. I know."

"It always seemed that the four of us would conquer the world together," the smaller man breathed. "That we could do anything, face anyone, if only we were together. But now—it's just—" And he stuttered for the first time, just as they started walking away from the town.

"Yeah." Sirius felt his face grow dark. "I guess… it looks like it's just you and me, Peter."

Peter looked at him strangely but nodded; his hands only shook a little. Sirius smiled grimly.

"Then it's time for Wormtail and Padfoot to strike again. Call it the Marauders revenge."

"Marauders' Revenge?"

"For Remus. For James. For you and I." Sirius shrugged. "I think we all deserve a bit of vengeance after everything that's happened."

Surprisingly, Peter smiled. "The Marauders' Revenge it is, then." His eyes twinkled as the smile blossomed into a grin. "And let it be legendary."

-------------------------

And it was. Midnight arrived just before they did, having formulated the plan and acted upon it. Thankfully, so many years of pranking meant that they knew the castle and grounds extremely well, so well that Sirius and Peter didn't need the Marauder's Map, wherever it had gone. One of Harry's friends owned it last, but Sirius hadn't thought to ask. The map was probably still in the castle, innocently disguised as an old piece of parchment and lurking right beneath ignorant Death Eater eyes.

They used the cave passageway, bypassing the tunnels out of The Three Broomsticks and the Shrieking Shack because they were too obvious, too easy to set a trap inside. Getting there required a bit of a climb, but if they were lucky they'd be able to come back through the same passageway—no matter how unlikely that outcome seemed. Intentionally picking the difficult road often made things easier later on, a lesson the Marauders had learned long ago. Boldness over caution, with a pinch of sanity thrown in on the side—such was their method.

So Wormtail slipped through the small rat-sized hole that they'd dug during sixth year, emerging as Peter on the other side. The human was only visible for a moment, but those three seconds were important ones. A flick of his wand caused the mirror to slide aside before Peter transformed back, scrambling aside as Padfoot bounded through the opening. Not a single ward twinged an alert; like most of their kind, they were designed to detect human beings, not rats and dogs. Peter's brief appearance averaged out as an anomaly, not an alert. Sirius—Padfoot—grinned to himself. Nothing was perfect; the Death Eaters had simply piggybacked onto Hogwarts' existing wards, and he knew _those _well.

They padded down the fourth floor passageway together, with Wormtail darting forward to peek around corners before Padfoot ventured out. More than once, they bolted into the shadows to avoid laughing children, waiting in silence while the Death Eaters' spawn continued blissfully on.

Vaisey and Nott.

"Did you hear him screaming before the transformation?" Vaisey chuckled. "and then the wolf wailing—it's no wonder that my father has fought so hard against werewolf rights. They aren't human."

"I hear the Dark Lord has plans for him. Werewolf blood supposedly has a lot of uses in potions," Nott replied.

"How do you know that?"

"Professor Snape told me." A smug grin, so audible in the superior tone. Padfoot resisted the urge to growl. To his left, Wormtail shifted uneasily.

"What do you think he might do?" Vaisey asked.

He could almost hear them drooling. "I don't know, but I want to watch."

"Me, too!"

Padfoot glanced at Wormtail as the voices drifted down the corridor, fading. Wormtail's red eyes were pained and worried, displaying human emotions that could never come from an ordinary rat.

Suddenly, the floor seemed to tremble. From beneath them, an earsplitting and angry howl filled the school, making shivers run down many a spine. Lonely and painful, the sound reminded Padfoot of the days before there was a Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs, the days when Remus was left alone with the wolf. Even now, with Wolfsbane Potion available, one of the Marauders always tried to be with Moony on those dreadful nights, even if it was just to cuddle up and sleep by his side. Lately, that duty had fallen to Wormtail more often than the others; with James' disability and Sirius' dangerous future, he had become the one who made the effort, who took the time. Sirius had tried—especially after his decade long disappearance—to be there for Moony, but Peter was far more reliable.

Fitting, then, that he was here for this day.

Padfoot shivered, glad not to be alone. The mournful howl ended, and a soft paw tapped against his own.

Padfoot nodded. It was time to move.

Wormtail in the lead, they snuck down the stairs, derailed only once by a shifting staircase. By two o'clock, they were in the dungeons, Wormtail having easily slipped through the bars and tripped the lock. The corridor was freezing cold, but Padfoot could smell Moony—that combination of blood, fur, and barely-restrained fury always marked the wolf. They were close.

_Cold_.

Padfoot froze without meaning to. His legs suddenly would not move. The hairs on the back of his neck jumped upwards, and his knees went weak. Padfoot could not stop shivering.

_"Welcome to Azkaban, Sirius. Do you like the company?"_

_Shivering.__ Cold hands on his face. He'd been near Dementors before, but never like this._

_"This is your life, now," the soft voice said. "These are now your companions." Pause. "Unless you break."_

_He shook his head desperately, blood pouring down his chin._

_"I thought not."_

_Departing footsteps._

_Coldness closed in._

Something jumped onto his back and Padfoot yelped in surprise, twisting around and seeking out the attacker with his teeth. But small claws dug in deep, and something squeaked in his ear. Mindlessly, Padfoot continued to struggle, desperate to be free of the Dementors—_Squeak!—_his attacker—_Squeak!_—and the memories.

_Squeak!_

A rat's small claws were digging into the scruff of his neck. Wormtail. _Peter!_ He shuddered again, this time in relief. Peter. Peter was a friend. He _wasn't _alone.

Insistent squeaking in his ear made Padfoot remember what they had come for. _Remus._Just thinking of their friend made the dog's head clear with startling speed. The pair was surrounded by Dementors, now, but the cold hands did not reach out. Brushing by, drifting aimlessly, and clumping together, the Dementors ignored them. And—as his ineffectual and half-focused eyes finally saw—they were staying well away from one cell door. Did Dementors fear the wolf?

Another howl, long and lonely.

Padfoot pressed forward stubbornly, driven by that howl. Within seconds, they had cleared the Dementors, but he was super conscious of their presence at his back. _Cold._Still shivering, the black dog reached the reinforced metal door, the small rat continuing to cling to his back. He sniffed at the edges, scenting different air: blood, pain, and fury. Determination. It was definitely Moony. The smell was a bit different, but this was Moony. Padfoot whined.

The answering howl sent an excited chill down his spine. Moony was his friend, his playmate, his pack. So was Wormtail, but Prongs was missing, and that thought sobered the more doggy-like thoughts. Sirius had a job to do and a friend to save. He could not afford distraction, especially with Dementors at his back. Not now.

Wormtail's grip suddenly relaxed, and Padfoot took advantage of it, shaking his head back and forth until the rat toppled off. Wormtail let out a disgruntled yelp-squeak in response, but picked himself up quickly. _Sorry, old friend._

He shoved the rat aside with a front paw, the movement clumsy in dog form. No matter; that would change soon enough. A quick glance over his shoulder showed that the Dementors were still edging away from the cell…but unfortunately, that was also likely to change. Fast. Padfoot shuddered at the thought and turned back to face the cell door. _No time. _One moment's concentration, and he was human again.

Wand in hand, Sirius focused his magic—_Screaming__. Magic tore through his body. "Are you—"—_he was shivering uncontrollably. The Dementors were closing fast—_Concentrate!_ He channeled all of the fear and the pent-up anger into the silent spell, and the door flew open. Immediately, Sirius jumped inside, not daring to look back. A solid kick slammed the heavy door shut and left him in the dark.

_"Lumos!"_ Sirius hissed just as the first low growl filled the cell.

-------------------------

Arthur paced quietly, wishing he could be anywhere but there. Wishing that Bill hadn't insisted upon coming with him. Bad enough what had happened at the Ministry—James had deserved far better—Fudge's refusal to save Remus Lupin was sickening. Petty. _Stupid._ And what Sirius planned was ludicrous. He was surprised that Peter, who was usually so sensible, had gone along with the scheme, but it was too late to change that now. Besides, those two had a special talent all of their own, but trying to rescue a _werewolf _on the full moon? He was crazy. Never mind that James claimed they had been doing so for years. For fun. It was still crazy.

"You think they're inside?" Bill asked.

"I don't know," Arthur replied tightly. He checked his watch again. Almost three.

The two of them would wait in this cave until an hour past dawn. Then they would leave—hastily. Hogsmeade and its environs were no longer safe for wizards, even those of Voldemort's persuasion. Dementors were said to roam freely here, to do and breed as they wished. Arthur shivered, then forced himself to focus. This was important. Worth doing. Approximately five hours until dawn. The Weasleys would give Sirius and Peter every second they could. _A bit over six hours.__ Don't take too long._

"They must be," Bill said with certainty his father wished he could feel.

"I hope you're right," Arthur breathed. "I hope you are."

Bill shot him a sideways look. "Sirius doesn't know how to fail. Especially when it's something important."

"I imagine so," the former deputy Minister of Magic had to say, picturing the face of a man he hardly knew, when all things were considered. "This is it, then. And Merlin save us if they fail."

-------------------------

He swallowed, hesitating. The wolf crouched in the far corner, hidden in the shadows and ready to leap, teeth showing and eyes glowing. Dancing. _Hungry._

"Oh, shit," Sirius whispered, unable to do anything but stare. He'd known since first year that there was only one thing to do with a live werewolf (stun it and run), but now as a grown man, he was frozen.

The wolf cocked his head. He did not growl again.

_Lulling me into a false sense of security?_

"Moony?" The word escaped before he even knew it was coming.

The wolf took a tentative step forward, edging into the light. Part of Sirius wanted to—knew he should—back away, but he could not. Moony was coated in blood, with fur torn and at least one leg bent at a dangerous angle. Even his crouch was uneven because of the crooked back leg, and pain filled the feral eyes.

"Remus?" Sirius whispered.

Moony whined, came out of the crouch. He limped another step forward, eyes still on Sirius. Almost against his will, Sirius also took a step forward. Instinct drove him. He could not stop.

"Can you understand me?" Could the wolf, or was this something different?

The wolf nodded, very distinctively, still limping towards him. Sirius met him halfway, and Moony whined again, painfully. Hesitantly, Sirius reached out to touch his ears. _Be prepared to lose that hand, Padfoot. He's not on Wolfsbane. _Yet somehow he could not stop himself. Dangerous or not, this was right—and the risk was worth anything, even ruining his own life. Then the wolf's head pressed into his hand.

"You _can _understand me," Sirius breathed.

Moony whined.

"You ready to go?"

A definite nod, longing in his eyes.

"Then let's do it." Sirius moved back to the door, swinging it open and turning his back to the wolf without a second's hesitation. _Idiot!_ sanity screamed, but Moony only padded unsteadily after him.

On the other side, Wormtail jumped, seeing the human Sirius and the wolf Moony. In the distance, the Dementors surged forward, but then Sirius was Padfoot again and the creatures stopped, drifting confusedly. Moony pressed close against Sirius' now furry body, unsteady and searching for support. After a quick nuzzle, Padfoot leaned down to push Wormtail forward. Beady eyes met his briefly, and the message passed was clear. They were running out of time.

Human breathing came from not that far away.

Padfoot froze, listening. Raspy and pained, accompanied by a scent that the human Sirius did not recognize—but Padfoot could. Kingsley Shacklebolt. Shacklebolt. _Shit._ They'd forgotten all about him.

Padfoot's head snapped around to stare at Wormtail.

The rat stared back with terrified eyes. Padfoot tried to swallow, but found doing so harder in canine form, especially with the cold lump forming in his stomach. What in the world were they supposed to do now? They couldn't leave Kingsley, but the entire plan hinged on the fact that the wolf wouldn't attack two Animagi. They weren't human, and he already knew Padfoot and Wormtail, knew them well. But what about Kingsley? The wolf hadn't attacked Sirius—would he leave Kingsley alone, too?

Moony nudged him, and Padfoot twisted back to look. A short whine made the point clear—Remus' thoughts matched his own.

He pawed at Wormtail again, and bobbed his head significantly. Wormtail stared back, shaking his head as if to say _Are__ you crazy?_

Padfoot tried to shrug, but it didn't work so well as a dog, either. _Yeah, I am._

Wormtail sighed, which worked rather well for a rat. He glared at Padfoot, but skittered obligingly in the right direction. The dog and wolf both grinned, suddenly taken back fifteen years to that first night, when they'd all overcome fears and expectations. Had Prongs been present, this night would have been perfect…in an abstract sort of way. _Odd how the memories creep up on you._In his absence, they'd just have to remember.

They reached the cell with Moony still limping and Wormtail in the lead. Cautiously, Padfoot glanced over his shoulder at the drifting Dementors, and then he was Sirius, acting before he could change his mind. His wand was level with the door by the time the transformation was complete.

_"Alohomora."_

Dementors surged forward.

Rat and wolf leapt through the door as Sirius strode in, twisting around to face the Dementors. The familiar chill tore through him, threatening to send Sirius cowering into a corner—_so many!_—but he forced himself to concentrate with the grim focus that years in Azkaban had drilled into him. _I owe everything I am to my friends. _Wand stretched out. _"Expecto Patronum!"_

Brilliant white light filled the passageway, making him blink. By the time Sirius' eyes popped open, the creatures had fled, and he wasn't about to push his luck. Stepping aside and slamming the door shut, he pocketed the wand before noting the shivering wolf and rat. He reached down briefly to touch both, still amazed at Remus' newfound control—maybe they _had _given him Wolfsbane—and turned to face Kingsley.

The other Auror was as expected, battered and abused, looking sickly pale in the light Sirius didn't remember having cast from his wand. He was not, however, chained to the back wall, which indicated Bellatrix's recent presence. _She always did enjoy letting people fight back_, he thought dispassionately, half-surprised at his own control Exhausted eyes opened.

"Siiuuus?"

"Yeah." He knelt by the larger man's side, aware of the calculating way Shacklebolt's eyes looked about. _Good man_. "Time to get the hell out of here." Without a further word, he dug into his pocket, and then handed over his wand to the Auror.

Most wizards were loathe to use another's wand or to allow someone to even hold their own, but Aurors were different. They trained to utilize strange wands, because you never knew what might happen. You never knew when you might be desperate. Kingsley, tellingly, did not hesitate.

_"Brevisalvum Mali."_ A grimace. "Thanks."

"No problem." Sirius helped him to his feet. "Let's move."

Kingsley staggered for a moment, then gestured weakly in Moony's direction. "Is thaa—?"

"Don't ask."

"Alight." The big man spat out a mouthful of blood, still leaning heavily on Sirius. The spell made him functional, but both legs were obviously broken, and even an Aurors' Quick Heal could only do so much. His words were slurred. "Lessgo."

Sirius twisted around to look over his shoulder. Moony was still bleeding, and Wormtail's eyes watched him worriedly. _I think this is the first time I wished he was something _bigger_ than a rat._ "Peter?"

_Crack._ Peter replaced Wormtail, moving silently to Kingsley's side. He was dwarfed by the taller man, but the support was what counted. "I've got him."

"Thanss," Shacklebolt whispered. His eyes were on Sirius, who knew why. He tried to smile, but the effort failed.

"I know," he said quietly. _You don't approve of what I am, and yet you follow me anyway. What does that make us?_

No words this time. No time for subtlety. The back wall was an outer wall, unlike Remus' cell. Heavily reinforced and warded, it was theoretically impossible to breach—but the only rule of dark magic was that there were no rules. Only consequences.

Dementors clambered at the door.

Wand up again.

The wall shattered, pelting the wolf and three humans with fragments. Only half of the opening actually led outside; the rest formed an impromptu dirt ramp because the dungeons were half underground. Yet the opening was big enough, and they sprinted forward, Sirius scooping Moony into his arms along the way. No time to be careful. No time to beware the wolf. He couldn't even afford to mind the snarl. They had to move and they had to move fast—Sirius dove through the opening, aware of Kingsley's heavy breathing behind him.

Ten feet.

Ten yards.

They were in the courtyard, heading towards the gate—

Fifty yards.

"Look out!" Peter's shout.

Sirius dropped to the ground, spilling the wolf free from his arms. Moony yelped, and Sirius grouped blindly for the wolf—would his instincts take over and make him attack? Even Death Eaters did not deserve Moony's bite, and Remus would never be able to live with himself if such a thing happened. But the suddenly free wolf bounded forward, out of Sirius' grasp. The human howled in frustration, but Padfoot followed a split second later.

Even injured, Moony's long strides ate up the ground between the former wall and the now-startled Death Eaters, who had probably been up to no good in the first place. One screamed and ran way, recognizing the wolf for what it was, but the other two wheeled on the canines with wands drawn. Both aimed for Moony, who dodged the first curse and leapt at the closer Death Eater—_Make your choice, Sirius. Protect your friend or look out for the greater good?_

Padfoot bowled over the Death Eater who was about to curse Remus; Moony had already tackled the other. Cameron Dunston went down hard, screeching in sudden terror, but a quick swipe of one paw and accurate employment of teeth cut that off. Sirius had never ripped someone's throat out before, and the blood tasted dry and salty in his mouth. He shuddered and moved on, preparing to force Moony off of Terrace Fawcett.

Still crouching, Padfoot stopped. Moony had torn Fawcett up with claws alone, never once biting him; despite that, the Death Eater was a bloody mess and well out of commission. The wolf stared at Padfoot with knowing eyes, nodding slightly as if to assure him everything would be all right. The courtyard was empty; Nott had long since fled. _Damn_.

Sirius transformed again and crouched by the injured wolf's side. Moony looked even more beaten and scrawny in the light of the full moon, especially with the blood caked on the side of his face. Fawcett lay moaning to their right, but Sirius ignored him.

"You are a mess, aren't you?" he whispered, tasting coppery blood again. Spitting didn't help much, but he did use his left sleeve to wipe some of the blood off of his chin. It smeared more than anything else, but that was the least of Sirius' problems.

Moony whined.

"Let's get you out of here."

Another slight nod from the wolf and Sirius picked him up again, feeling broken ribs shift and breathing come hard. Holding the wolf as gently as he could, Sirius turned to face Peter and Kingsley once more.

"Let's move,' he said harshly. "I've had enough of this place."

------------

The Other Author's Note: Surprise update! I got motivated, and PD17 is done except for editing, so if you keep me that way, I may very well manage something like my old (fast!) posting speed. So stay tuned for Chapter Seventeen: Defiance and Honor, and please review!


	18. Chapter 17: Defiance and Honor

**Promises Defended

* * *

**

_Chapter Seventeen: Defiance and Honor_

* * *

Arthur jumped when Sirius walked into the cave carrying Moony in his numb arms. Brown eyes widened, and his mouth dropped open.

"Is he—?"

Moony whined.

Arthur's hand gripped Bill's arm nervously, his fingers white. He wasn't even trying to hide his shock, though it made Sirius want to sigh. The younger Weasley's eyes, however, were concentrated on Sirius' face, watching and noticing. The close scrutiny brought a tired smile to Sirius' face; his arms felt like lead. "He's fine," Sirius whispered, kneeling down and settling the battered wolf on the ground. "Perfectly safe."

"How?" Arthur asked.

"Don't know," Peter wheezed, helping Kingsley into a sitting position. The Auror winced in pain, nodding slightly in thanks. "Something happened. Sirius?"

"In a moment." He glanced at Bill. "Water?"

"Here."

Carefully, he dribbled a bit of water into Moony's mouth; the wolf whined gratefully in response. Peter also held a canteen to Kingsley's lips, though the human managed to swallow even less than the wolf; far more trickled down his chin and onto the floor than anywhere else. Still, he summoned a pained smile.

"Thans, Pettigrew. Guess I'be misjudge yah more than once."

Peter chuckled tightly as Bill moved to his side. "Most people do."

"I've got him," the red-haired Auror said. "You see to Remus."

"Thanks."

Bill dripped more water into Kingsley's mouth. "Let's get you to Avalon, big man," he said quietly. "I think Dana's going to have a heart attack, seeing you."

"Nah. She's a gud gal," Kingsley grunted as Bill looped an arm under his shoulders and levered him to his feet. He swayed slightly, but the smaller Auror caught him easily; replying lightly:

"At least you can be sure that Alice'll yell at you."

"Always duhs."

Even Sirius had to smile as Peter crouched next to him and Moony. Alice _would _yell at Kingsley—more out of worry than anything else—and Dana would get to work. The young trainee was quickly becoming the Aurors' expert healer, spending time studying with Madam Pomfrey and at St. Mungo's when Alice wasn't working her to death. Still, Remus needed more care than Dana might know how to offer. Even to Sirius' untrained eyes, he looked to be getting worse. _Still, there's no safer place for him. Not with Hogwarts in Voldemort's hands._

"What will you do?" Arthur asked quietly, interrupting his thoughts.

"Go to Avalon, too, I think," Sirius replied quietly, then glanced at Peter. "Unless you have a better idea."

"Normally I'd suggest Hogwarts, but that's obviously a bad idea," his friend replied dryly. "And St. Mungo's is too indefensible. I think you're right. Avalon is best." He smiled crookedly. "Wherever that is."

"You'll find out soon," Sirius replied, his eyes on Moony again. Gently, he reached out to touch the wolf's uninjured ear, whispering, "Does that work for you, Remus?"

The wolf nodded weakly, his eyes still filled with pain.

"Avalon it is, then," Sirius breathed.

"Bad weather, there," Bill put in abruptly, his wand in hand and almost ready to Apparate.

"Huh?"

"Bad weather. It's been dark and stormy. No light—it feels like midnight all the time, except for no moon or stars."

Sirius froze. For a moment, the image of waves crashing into a still dark shore flashed through his mind, but this was not the past. This was not an attack. _No moon. No stars. No day._ Then what? He shivered as Bill's eyes searched his face.

"Do you know what it is?"

He shook his head, forced his body into motion. "No idea. But we'll see when we get there." As carefully as he could, Sirius eased Moony back into his arms. The wolf let out a high-pitched yelp of pain. _Shit!_

"Remus?" Peter touched the furry head gently, staring into the yellow-blue eyes before looking at Sirius. "I think we need Madam Pomfrey. She's dealt with him before. She'll know what to do."

_Now why didn't I think of that?_ Sirius nodded quickly. "Good idea." He turned. "Arthur, can you fetch her?"

"Of course, but I can't get to Avalon."

"Take her to Grimmauld Place. James can, and he'll want to come anyway."

"Got it," Arthur replied decisively. "I'll go now." _Crack._ Without a further word, he was gone.

Peter's big eyes focused on Sirius. "What about me?" he asked quietly.

"Hold tight to my arm and come along," Sirius replied in surprise. "You didn't think I'd leave you out, did you?"

Peter shrugged. "Well, I've got the Dark Mark, you know," he answered uneasily. "It's the Isle of Light."

"So do I, Peter," Sirius replied with a half-smile. "So do I." He shivered unconsciously. _Enough memories_. "Let's go."

"Yeah." Both hands gripped his arm, not as tight as they might have been, years ago—had today shown nothing else, it was how much Peter had grown, and that was more than even Sirius had expected. "Let's go."

------------

Dunston's dead body had been left in the courtyard; they'd deal with it along with the other two, a moment that would come soon enough. Fawcett was mangled beyond belief, mercifully spared the werewolf's bite but torn to pieces by his claws (_What little good that mercy will give him, I do not know. Did Remus?). _Nott was completely fine, of course, having bolted away from the attack, seeking to warn the Dark Lord—or so he said. Their combined efforts would come to naught.

The two survivors and Lily Fawcett—who had so foolishly tried to beg for her beloved Terrance's life—now slumped against the outer wall of Hogwarts, on display for both Death Eaters and children alike. Such was the lesson taught. The necessary lesson.

Not one of them was dying. Not yet.

"Kill them, Severus," the cool voice commanded. The awesome temper had faded, now.

"Yes, My Lord."

He stepped forward immediately, wand pointed first in Ronald Nott's direction, his mother's old friend, study partner, and second cousin—the coward deserved to perish first, because they all knew why he had run. Smart, perhaps, for a moment—but not for a Death Eater. They all knew the consequences of failure, and those who had forgotten would remember now. The grass would be stained crimson for months, and it would grow tall. Blood made good fertilizer.

_"Avada Kedavra!"_

There could be no hesitation. To Voldemort's left, Lucius shifted slightly; he would have preferred to be honored by this duty, to slay those who had failed in front of all eyes. But Severus could not look at him.

Terrance Fawcett.

_"Avada Kedavra!"_

Lily Fawcett stared at him with disbelieving eyes, waiting for the joke to end. All she had done was plead for her husband's life.

One more time. His voice was cold iron. He felt no pity.

_"Avada Kedavra!"_

------------

The Sword of Gryffindor sat on the table in front of her, and Harry sat to her right. Lily was cross-legged on the old and worn couch in the Unicorn Group's Muggle house, watching the other's reactions as they digested Harry's story. It was amazing, really—no one had _ever _killed a Dementor, even Lord Voldemort, who claimed the ability. No one even knew much about them, only that they could breed and had in the past. Never, not once, had an effective method of destruction been invented.

Now they had one, or the ingredients for one, anyway. All the Unicorn Group had to figure out was how to put the pieces together, how to make one isolated act of _love _and _friendship_ extend into a spell. How to make the potent combination of Gryffindor's sword and a boy defending his friends work for everyone.

"It sounds a lot like the Patronus," Ted Tonks finally commented, looking exhausted.

Sinistra shook her head. "Not quite," she replied softly, sounding hoarse. "A Patronus only frightens Dementors away. This sword—without a spell and with no preparation—_killed _two Dementors. That's different. More so than meets the eye, I think."

"How so?" Montague countered. "Positive emotions, happy thoughts, it's the same principle."

"I don't think so." Lily bit her lip, her mind racing. "Auriga is right—what do we know about the sword?"

Their newest member spoke up, having been invited by a last-minute owl from Lily. She wasn't even sure why she'd invited Julia—

"Legend tells us that there were two swords, initially," the silver-haired witch put in quietly. "Forged by the same smith and forged to be nearly identical, charmed by Rowena Ravenclaw and Helga Hufflepuff to be unbreakable. They were gifts to two best friends—one with emeralds in the hilt and one with rubies." She smiled wanly.

"Slytherin's—the emerald-hilted sword—was either stolen or broken during his lifetime. Some legends say that Gyffindor's son, Harold, stole it after Slytherin killed his father, but if so, the blade was never found. A few believe that Harold Gryffindor transformed it into _this _blade"—she gestured—"but the story is unlikely. I searched for the Sword of Slytherin for years on Voldemort's orders, and I believe it was destroyed."

"So this is definitely Gryffindor's sword," Lily stated, nodding thoughtfully.

"I believe so, yes."

"It's an interesting story, but what's the point?" Ted asked shortly. His eyes looked ready to slide shut from exhaustion.

"Perhaps there isn't one," Julia replied, unruffled. "But there are a few clues, at least."

"Unbreakable," Sinistra interjected. "Charmed to be unbreakable."

Julia smiled enigmatically. "By Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff, the two most talented witches of their age."

"The real question is what other spells they cast," Lily put in, thinking fast.

"And what relationship those have to dead Dementors," Ted added, seeming interested for the first time.

"Dumbledore's letter said that the sword was a gift of love and friendship," Harry said quietly. "I'm not sure what that did, but maybe it meant something."

"Dementors don't feel love. Or friendship," Montague rubbed at his goatee absentmindedly. "Could that be it?"

"They can't _abide _love," Julia corrected him softly. "They draw out good memories so that they can feed off of misery—not on the happy thoughts. It's a common misconception. Voldemort controls them through fear; oddly enough, they can feed on other Dementors' fear as well."

"That's…strange," Ted commented. Next to Lily, Harry shivered. She couldn't blame him, really—there were now shadows in her son's eyes that had never been there before, and he had aged a dozen years in that one moment. Slowly, Lily reached out to squeeze Harry's shoulder, and received a wan smile in return.

"Maybe not." Auriga shoved her glasses higher on her nose. "Maybe the success of a Patronus and the sword is due to the fact that Dementors can sense love and other good emotions. Love is arguably the strongest 'happy thought'—is it strong enough? Can it kill them?"

"Because what is friendship if not another form of love?" Montague asked, chewing on one knuckle now. "If not a 'happy memory'?"

"But how does the sword work where a Patronus will not?" Ted wondered.

"Strength," Auriga answered immediately. "Remember Albus Dumbledore's funeral?"

"Dementors didn't die there," Ted objected.

"They still ran," Montague pointed out.

"So we're left with the same problem," Lily interjected. "What's so different about the sword? Why has _love _never killed them before?"

"Strength," Sinistra repeated just as Julia blurted out:

"Unbreakable. They charmed them to be _unbreakable._"

"So?" Montague asked.

"What if there was a clause? A key?" Julia's eyes were wide. "What if the unbreakable charm was somehow related to love?"

"We could replicate that." Lily grabbed a sheet of paper and started scribbling. "With elements of the Patronus Charm, love, and…?"

"Devotion?" Ted supplied.

"No. It's too close," Julia shook her head, earning a strange look in return. So far as they knew, she'd never crafted a spell before, but she seemed certain, so Ted just shrugged.

"Hope, maybe," Julia continued quietly. "That's hard to break."

Lily nodded. "What else? We need at least one more element."

Why, she did not know—most spells were crafted with one or two 'elements'; the more complicated and powerful ones usually used three, but rarely five. Sometimes four, but only the upper edge of advanced magic used five. _Well, if this spell was easy, it would have been created years ago._

"Heat," Auriga suddenly said, then explained. "Dementors always make you feel cold. The opposite can't hurt."

"True," Lily conceded, still scribbling. "But we need another."

Six total, then. Even stranger. Maybe seven was the number? That would fit, especially when destroying a magic-made creature.

"Soul," Harry said softly; everyone nodded immediately. Lily's son smiled uneasily. "After all, isn't that what they want? Can't we use it against them?"

"Good idea."

Lily smiled at him again, speaking softly. Harry was growing up to be an interesting twist between her and James. On one hand, he was the same kind of forward and powerful wizard that his father was, but on the other, he had her curiosity and her flare for theoretical magic. The two were a potent combination.

"Anything else?" she asked, tearing her eyes away from her son.

There was a long moment of silence as everyone racked their minds, but no one seemed able to find anything more. Still, not one of the Unicorn Group even stopped to ask if seven elements might not be the correct amount. For this, what else stood a chance?

"Hatred," Julia suddenly added. Eyes opened wide, so she went on: "Hatred is every bit as strong as love, and can often start—or end—as love. And legend tells us of two best friends, once unbreakable as brothers…and later implacable enemies. We need a destruction element. Hatred will do it."

------------

He'd sent Tonks to fetch Pomfrey while Dana set to work on Kingsley; James was on his way, but had not been at Grimmauld Place when Arthur brought the matron there. No matter; Hogwarts' healer had arrived only a few minutes later, setting to work on Moony with a vengeance. By the time dawn broke, she had finished, Remus was human, and Sirius and Peter were exhausted. They sat for a long time, watching their friend sleep in silence and waiting for James to arrive. Once he did, the three exchanged tight smiles and weary embraces, and then settled down together without a further word. None were necessary.

But he left James and Peter by Remus' bedside, Apparating off of Avalon after exchanging a significant glance or two. They understood, and Sirius Disapparated just outside the doors to the _Daily Prophet's_ London Office, #71 Diagon Alley.

He walked right inside and was met by a green-haired Welcome Witch who looked entirely too perky for seven o'clock in the morning.

"Good morning, sir, and welcome to the _Daily Prophet!_" she said chirpily. "My name is Wendy and I am sorry to inform you that the _Daily Prophet _does not allow visitors until nine o'clock on alternating Wednesdays, Thursdays, and Fridays. The next open day this month is the twenty-fourth. If you'll put your name and Floo Address on the sign up wall"—she gestured to her left—"we will call you at the first available tour and arrange for the VIB (_Very Important Being_) tour. It's our special this week, you see." She shot him a dazzling smile. "We've been very busy."

Sirius let her finish. It amused him to do so and then reply in a quiet voice (clasping his hands behind his back in a businesslike manner!):

"My name is Sirius Black. I am here to see Barnabas Cuffe."

"But Editor Cuffe is not—" Wendy gaped. "_Who _did you say you were?"

"Sirius Black."

"But you're surely not…"

He smiled, adding enough of a secretive edge to it to drive a young-not-long-out-of-Hogwarts-receptionist mad. Sirius had grown up enough that sometimes he hated to play this old game, but it worked, and he wasn't very particular about his methods these days.

"I'd like to talk to him about where I was last night." He paused dramatically. "Hogwarts."

"What—_oh!_" Wendy's eyes went so wide that Sirius thought they might pop out of her head and roll around on the floor for awhile. "I'll—I'll—"

"Get him?" he suggested helpfully.

"Oh, yes!"

------------

_January 20, 1993_

**VICTORY AMONGST DARKNESS**

_By _Barnabas Cuffe_, Editor_

An unexpected visitor walked into the _Daily Prophet's _London

office this morning to reveal the most unexpected truth—of a

daring raid against a Death Eater-held Hogwarts and the rescue

of both prisoners still held there.

Hogwarts students will rejoice to know that longtime Headmaster

Remus Lupin and Defense Against the Dark Arts professor

Kingsley Shacklebolt (a former Auror, injured in the famed Riddle

House Raid) are now safe in an undisclosed location. Both are

reported to have received healing and are on the mend.

Who rescued them? Who told the _Daily Prophet?_ The answer

ought to be self-evident: the Wizarding world's best known hero

and the only man to survive Lord Voldemort more than three

times—Sirius Black. He was accompanied by lifelong friend and

reformed Death Eater Peter Pettigrew, who publicly renounced

allegiance to the Dark Lord over one year ago. Together, they

accomplished the impossible.

And now what? Black only smiles. "Victory." But his grin fades

quickly. "There's still a lot more to do, but nothing is impossible.

I'm not giving up. Neither is Peter, or Remus, or James Potter—

or a lot of others. This isn't over, and we're going to win."

Ministry of Magic officials refused to comment on the episode,

but anonymous sources suggest that this was _not _a Ministry-

sponsored mission. Minister Fudge is reportedly outraged by

Black's audacity, but only time will tell if the Ministry dares to

strike against him. Will they replace him as head of the Aurors

and the Department of Magical Law Enforcement? Certainly

Fudge is within his legal rights to do so, but will they _dare?_

Deny the world the only hero we have? We think not.

------------

"Rubbish," Sirius snorted. "Complete and utter crap." He dropped the newspaper on the table over seven hours after visiting the _Daily Prophet_; it had been in the noon edition—on the very front page, of course. With inch tall headlines. _Spare me. _He glared at Lily, daring her to disagree. She did, of course.

"You asked for this, you know."

"I did. The _article_," he stressed. "Not the overemotional and foolish crap."

"And yet it's true," she said softly.

"No. It's not." Sirius glared again, but cut her response off with an impatient wave of one hand. "I set myself up as a hero, I know—not that I asked to be one, but someone had to step forward and challenge him, and that someone wound up being me." His voice dropped. "Why doesn't matter any more."

Lily stared. He shrugged and gestured irritably at the article.

"But that bull about me being the only 'true' hero? That's a lie, and they _ought _to know better." Sirius had to shiver, couldn't help it. The soft tone unintentionally warped into a whisper. "If they don't, we're in for some very bad times."

"In more ways than one," Lily agreed, then nodded towards his arm. "Are you ready to talk about it?"

Sirius sighed. "I guess I have to be, don't I?"

"No, you don't," she replied seriously. "I could talk to Peter or Julia, or one of several others—"

"Their memories aren't as clear as mine. A by-product of the Memory Enhancer." _And of the pain._

"All right, then," Lily said quietly. "Tell me about the Dark Mark."

------------

_Green light._

_Shouting._

_Screaming._

_James' pale and stricken face._

_Running figures—_

Remus jerked awake, his eyes darting around the room. To his surprise, James was seated at his bedside, dark circles ringing his eyes. He looked _old_, suddenly, old and worn out.

"Remus?" he asked raggedly.

"Yeah?" The response came out muffled; his lips were dry and a bit chapped. Remus had gone to sleep as the wolf and had woken human during the healing, but Pomfrey had spelled him back into bliss. He'd drifted in and out for hours after, dreaming, seeing, _knowing_—but it was evening, now, and Remus hadn't meant to sleep all day. He blinked confusedly, but gladly accepted the glass of water James offered, levering himself into a sitting position to drink it. "Thanks."

James nodded, seeming numb. "I had to tell you," he said abruptly. "Myself."

"Tell me what?" Remus was suddenly wide awake. _Screaming figures. Frightened glances. Dark spells coloring a strangely blue sky_—he started. Shivered. Stared. "James?"

"We failed." His old friend swallowed hard, closing his eyes briefly. When the hazel eyes opened, though, they stared back unerringly. Courageously. "_I _failed."

"Hogwarts." It could not be a question, and Remus sank back against the pillows, exhausted once more.

"Yes." There was a bruise on James' face that hadn't been there the day before. "The Order—we tried. And we fought and it looked like the battle was going well…just like he wanted us to think." He snorted bitterly. "It was a trap, of course, and I led them right into it. Six died before we could pull out."

"Who?" Remus asked woodenly.

James' voice was flat, dead. He rattled the list off without pausing. "Elphias Dodge. Sturgis Podmore. Minnie Dearborn. Bradley Sanders. Alice Weber. Tobias Lindskold."

He swallowed. Six old friends. Six witches and wizards who had fought against the darkness almost from the beginning. Remus had to close his eyes, had to shut James' voice out as he described the trap that Voldemort had so craftily drawn them into. James said nothing to spare himself, even as his face burned red in shame. Every word was the truth; Remus could tell from the heartbreak in James' voice.

To make matters worse, Emmeline Vance had turned out to be a spy on Lord Voldemort's side, defecting after neatly dragging a good part of the Order of the Phoenix down with her.

"Everyone makes mistakes, James," he whispered when his friend had run down. "You had no way to know."

"Maybe not. Still, I knew that I was wrong, but I wanted to do something, anything. I was sick of feeling helpless," James admitted, grimacing. "I didn't even tell Sirius we were going, because I knew he'd try to stop us. But damnit if I didn't want to stop _him,_ to end this here and now before he dies…"

A feeling Remus well knew. A solution he tried to find every day. "Yeah," he breathed. "Me, too. I understand."

"That doesn't make things better," the former Minister replied. "That doesn't bring the dead back to life."

"No, it doesn't," Remus replied quietly. "But neither does blaming yourself."

"True. But if you tell me that you would have attacked, I'll forgive myself. Not before." James winced. "We shouldn't have gone."

Remus sighed. Their friendship demanded that the honest words be spoken, no matter how they hurt. "I wouldn't have," he answered. "But it might have worked. If Vance hadn't been lying—"

"If," James cut him off. "If."

"It's not your fault, James."

"Then whose is it?"

"Blame Voldemort." The quiet voice came form the doorway, where Sirius and Peter stood, their faces tight with anger. "Or blame Fudge," Sirius spat. "Because he's already blaming you."

"And why not? It's my fault," was the dejected reply.

Remus spoke softly before Sirius could interject angrily. "Maybe. Maybe not. You _tried_, James, and that shows the world that we're still fighting back. That's important."

"And it reminds Fudge that he isn't King of Britain," Peter added perceptively. In the one conversation he and Remus had shared since Remus' rescue from Hogwarts (during Remus' one bout of coherency), the headmaster had noticed the difference in his old friend. Was it strange that one large act of courage could give a man so much more confidence? There had been a thousand small ones throughout the years, but none of them seemed to matter like this one. Everyone must have thought Sirius crazy for bringing Peter along, but for once Sirius' hair-brained scheme had come out well. Peter continued calmly:

"As bad as it sounds, this may turn out for the best. Between what we did, and what _you _did, people are starting to realize what Fudge is."

"And what's that?" James asked irritably.

"A complete and total dirtbag," Peter said bluntly. "An opportunist. A disaster."

James glared.

"He's right, Prongs," Remus added softly. "Right or wrong, success or failure, you have shown the world that we are _all _still fighting."

"And that I'm incompetent," the former Minister muttered darkly.

"You aren't, you know," Sirius replied. "We all lose sometimes."

"Even you?" James snapped, snorting bitterly.

Remus knew that Prongs would regret those words later, but Sirius smiled easily, almost oblivious. "Especially me."

"Right."

"There have been plenty of times, and you know it," Sirius replied, his face darkening slightly. But James was too tired, too frustrated, and too angry to notice.

"Like when?" he demanded.

"Plenty." Sirius' right hand drifted towards his left forearm before he snatched it away, and the other three Marauders swallowed. Even they sometimes fell into the trap of viewing Sirius as that much-needed hero, despite their close friendship. Forgetting the _price _Sirius had paid was easy. Too easy—suddenly, the image of him broken, bleeding, and barely breathing in Hogwarts' courtyard filled Remus' mind, and this was no vision. Or at least he hoped it wasn't.

"I'm sorry," James said in a small voice.

"I know," Sirius replied, sitting down next to James. "Usually, even I manage to forget."

The answer made James' expression ease a bit, but Remus knew better. Sirius had not forgotten, and he never would. Remus had seen far too many visions of the hell Sirius had been through to think differently. Still, he let the comment go, understanding that it was easier for Sirius to pretend.

James sighed again, seeming to sense the same thing. "What is Fudge saying, anyway?"

"That the Order of the Phoenix attacked Hogwarts and failed," Peter replied shortly. "He's named those who died…and even named Vance as a traitor."

"Oh." Remus expected an explosion but did not get one—what he saw was worrisome. James' bow merely crinkled. "I guess that means we've got a bug in our midst, doesn't it?" James asked.

"That aside, he's advertised the Order to the world," Peter continued quietly. "We've got to do something about that, if nothing else."

"No." Remus shook his head. "I'll take care of that."

The others nodded, and James' face seemed to clear a little, focus more.

"And I'll find our leak," he said immediately, his expression grim. Either he'd locked his earlier depression away or he felt better—with James, it was impossible to tell. But he had a purpose now, and perhaps that was enough.

------------

The next day, listening to James Potter on the WWN, few understood what the effort cost him, only that he was still what they needed him to be—steadfast, strong, and willing to fight.

"There's a certain trust placed in those who hold public office," his voice said calmly through a speaker in a thousand homes. "Or at least there ought to be."

Peter sat next to him, just watching. James was as fragile as anyone else, and he'd been beaten down entirely too much…especially in the last few weeks. He'd never _wanted _to be Minister of Magic, but in taking the job, James had poured heart and soul into saving their world, only to have his hard work stomped upon by an incompetent and dishonest successor. Watching Fudge fumble killed James, Peter knew, if only because something had to be done, and nothing was.

"We ought to be able to trust those who lead us, and to believe that they will not act maliciously or dishonorably. We ought to be able to believe that they will _try _to do the right thing.

"When I was a child, my parents taught me that integrity was defined by doing the right thing, even when no one is looking." He took a deep breath. "But there are many watching now, and few right things being done."

James' voice went hard and his eyes narrowed. Anyone watching him had to know how serious he was, how truthful he was being. "I'm not enjoying this broadcast. I hope no one thinks that I am. But _someone _must say what needs to be said:

"We are no longer winning this war. We are no longer even _fighting _it. I'll not blame anyone for the lack of victories any more than I blame myself, but the hesitation to do battle is what will kill us. And every one of you should know that.

"Is peace worth any price? Is it worth surrendering after so long? Is it worth accepting slavery, dishonor? I don't think so. I think honor is the only thing we have left in this war, the only thing that separates us from murderers, torturers, and thieves. _Honor. _Doing the right thing. Fighting _back._

"I leave it to you to decide what we ought to do. Such decisions are no longer mine to make. But I hope someone makes them…while honor remains."

------------

"He's right, you know," Hestia Jones said, looking awake for the first time since her sister's death.

"About what?" Jason Clearwater asked curiously, his voice as sharp as ever. His eyes, however, were focused on Alice Longbottom, not his mentor.

"Someone has to do something."

Lupin had left shortly after James Potter and Peter Pettigrew had departed; rumor said that Lupin was headed for the old Black home, but Sirius would be back. No one knew when he'd return to the Aurors' Island, of course, but they were used to his disappearances by now. "I don't think he meant us," Alice said quietly.

"I agree. He's too honorable to imply such a thing," Hestia replied without hesitation. "But I still think we ought to."

Austin Fenwick eyed her suspiciously. "The Aurors have been ordered to stand down."

Frank and Alice exchanged a look, and she saw the slight smile playing on her husband's lips. She returned it, and then glanced back at Austin. "By a government we don't particularly care for."

"By Sirius Black," Clearwater shot back.

"Who doesn't exactly adore Fudge, either," Frank put in.

Alice grinned. "Sirius is the easy one."

Bill glanced between the two Longbottoms. "Are you thinking what I am thinking?"

Together: "Yes."

------------

Remus Lupin was the quiet kind, not prone to calling a press conference, talking to reporters, or going public on the WWN. By nature he was, much like Dumbledore before him, a silent mover of events. He was perfectly capable of fighting if the need should arise—even willing to do so—but not so ready to advertise his intentions to the world. Peter used to call him a natural secret keeper, and he'd always been right.

So he sat quietly in the library and regained his strength, waiting and wondering. Sirius sat with him for a long while, playing chess (reluctantly) and speaking softly about dealing with the aftermath of time spent in Voldemort's hands. At first, Remus was a bit uncomfortable sharing his worst memories, but doing so became easier as the minutes ticked by. He hadn't expected to share such things, but Sirius understood entirely too well.

So they talked about nightmares, and Silencing Charms, too.

Now, however, Sirius was gone, called to Avalon after shooting Remus a boyish smile. Immediately, Remus suspected that something was up—even suspected what Sirius' plans were—but he was content to wait. He could find out with the rest of the world, though Sirius had promised to warn him first…and it had only been nine days. Just nine.

* * *

* * *

The Other Author's Note: Getting my wisdom teeth out got me a day off from work, so in between pounding headaches, I managed to get a beta and get this sweetheart up. So stay tuned for PD18: "Unfamiliar Returns," and the reappearance of a mystery character! (And while you're waiting, please do review. I won't lie and say it'll make my jaw feel any better, but hey, you've got pity for a sick person, right? )


	19. Chapter 18: Unfamiliar Returns

**Promises Defended

* * *

**

_Chapter Eighteen: Unfamiliar Returns_

* * *

"Three injured, none serious, and zero dead," he declared, striding easily through the door and talking as he came. Fudge and Umbridge looked up, startled, giving him that Seeker-before-the-Bludger-hits stare and blubbering incoherently. Neither quite managed to digest what he'd said before Sirius continued. 

"Hogwarts is free," he said jubilantly. "The Death Eaters have fled. Voldemort was nowhere in sight."

That was a fact that didn't seem nearly as important to Fudge as it should have, or as significant as it was to Sirius. Of course they didn't understand. No, those two would only contemplate the political side.

"You took the Aurors to Hogwarts?" Fudge snapped incredulously.

Sirius seated himself in a high backed, royal purple armchair; it was gaudy as hell and constructed to look more expensive than actual cost. The mid-afternoon sun also reflected badly off of the upholstery, making the office look even more ghastly. "Yes. I did."

_And he didn't come out to meet me, which means he's got something better planned._

"Wh—_why_?" Umbridge gaped, and then regained her composure, reddening with anger and embarrassment. "You could have doomed everything with such a reckless and—"

"But I didn't. We won."

Sirius smiled at Fudge's angry and dumbfounded expression. _Why, you ask? _he thought with a touch of amusement—but only a touch. _As bait, in part, but mostly because it had to be done.__ Still, we all do what we have to do._

What was it that Remus told him Trelawney had said? _The dark end approaches. _Then so be it. He'd find a way to bend prophecy to his terms—but that was for later. For now, Hogwarts was safe, and that was all that mattered.

"You can't do such a thing!" Fudge snarled.

"I just did." There was no laughter left in his grim reply.

"You blatantly disregarded my orders, my authority!" the Little Fool shouted, not seeming to believe his ears. "I explicitly _told _you not to take the Aurors to Hogwarts—what would have happened if you failed? How many would have—"

"We won, if I may interject," he said neutrally.

"And if we didn't? _Winning_ doesn't matter. How many would have died if you failed? It wasn't worth the risk, not by far, and you _knew _that."

"I disagree," Sirius replied flatly. "People die in war, Minister. It happens. Sometimes, we're merely lucky enough that those who dare are those who choose to: warriors and not victims."

"You're insane."

"Quite possibly," he replied with all seriousness. "But at least I know which category I fall in, Fudge. I'm not sure about you, save that you aren't a victim…and you're not willing to fight."

"I believe in peace!" the Minister objected, growing redder.

Sirius smiled, surprised at how sad he felt all of a sudden. "So do I. Does that surprise you?" _But will peace come in my lifetime? I no longer know._ "But I also understand what needs to be done."

"Not in my Ministry, you don't!" Fudge growled. "I make those decisions. Not you."

"More's the pity." Sirius shrugged. "So fire me."

Umbridge's eyes went wide with shock. "Hem, hem—"

"If you force my hand, the world will _hate _you by the time I am through with you," the Minister threatened. "You will be seen as the biggest villain since He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, the man who abandoned the Wizarding world when they needed him most—the man who could have ended the war in one stroke, if only he had the courage to do so!"

Sirius gaped, caught off guard. "I?"

"And you know it," Fudge said viciously; Sirius still stared, more shocked than angry, not having thought Fudge would reach so far. "For a man who talks so often of ending the war, you haven't done a thing to make it happen. You know what it would take. _Coward._"

"Coward?" Sirius' blood burned up to a boil without warning. "You're calling me a coward?"

Fudge smiled smugly. "For months you have pretended that sacrificing one man would not be in the _world's _best interest, but now the truth comes out, doesn't it? You fear him."

_"You are mine, Sirius." Surprisingly gentle fingers brushed hair away from his eyes; Sirius had not the strength to pull away._

_"We both know it," Voldemort continued softly. "But you, and you alone, can choose your terms. I extend this honor to no other—but you I respect. And should you join me, you will be more than the others."_

_The hand came down on his left arm, a few inches above the Mark. Just as a reminder. Voldemort whispered directly in his ear. "After all, there must be some reward for fighting me all these years."_

Sirius shivered, finding his voice with an effort. "I fear him no more than any other wizard, and far less than most." His voice sounded distant in his own ears. _If only because I know him better than the rest of them combined._

"Of course you don't," Fudge sneered. "That's why you refuse to go."

"It's not that simple," Sirius objected emptily, still trying to work his way clear of the memory.

"Isn't it?"

_"Ten years, Sirius. Today makes ten years. Your friends might love you, but they think you are dead. What will you do when they leave you for another ten?"_

_He shuddered then. _

He shuddered now. But the words snapped him back into reality.

"You haven't listened, have you?" he asked after too long of a pause. _Be careful, Sirius! _"I've been telling you the truth for months—and I know Voldemort. He won't honor any deal you make with him. He doesn't want _peace_."

"You're afraid to go back," Fudge gloated. "Even for the world you 'want' to save so badly."

"That's easier for you to think, isn't it?" he countered, regaining his stride a little. "Fear has nothing to do with it. Doing so would be foolish—d'you want to play right into his hands?"

"That's hardly the point," Umbridge interjected.

"It is, you know," he replied, shaking in rage. He shouldn't let his temper out, and Sirius knew it. But it was too late to spin down. He could only hope to keep a modicum of control. "Because the concessions wouldn't end here."

"So? The war ending is worth mere concessions," the other snapped importantly. "Even _you._"

"What if he demanded an innocent? What if it was a child, a bystander? Would you sacrifice them, too?" Sirius demanded, bile rising in his throat.

"Of course I would! The safety of the entire world outweighs any one life!" And the fool believed it, too.

"And how many _would _you sacrifice, Fudge, before the end?"

"As many as it takes!"

Steel in his voice. "I will not go. I will not let you destroy everything we have fought for during the last twenty-two years. I am not such a fool to believe he will keep his word."

"You're a coward!" Fudge shrieked.

"Call me what you will. At least I do not cower behind human shields when hard choices must be made."

"You'll ruin us! Mark my words, _you will ruin us!_" The smaller man's voice grew higher and higher with every word. "I _know _you will!"

He felt cold. Helpless. So angry that he could barely move. And in a flash, he understood things that he'd never understood before. _Is this why you chose this road, Tom Marvolo Riddle? Because of narrow minded and _little _men who could not even manage to help themselves? _Sirius shivered, stared at Fudge. The silent vow rose unbidden. _I will not go so far. _You _might have, Tom Riddle. _He _would, and will if I let him. But I will never sink so far._

"Then I can no longer be a part of this." Sirius rose. "And I must leave. I would recommend a successor, but I don't think you would listen."

There was nothing left to do.

He walked out.

-----------

"I can't believe we turned them over to the Ministry," Tonks said irritably, kicking at loose rocks.

"Why not?" Bill replied. "I would think your family understood dirty political maneuvering better than most."

She scowled, her pretty face half-morphing into something grotesque and sharp-edged. "We try not to associate with them too much."

"Even Sirius?"

"Sirius is different," Tonks conceded, still frowning. But his student was a single-minded witch. "Tell me why."

"Because we want to see what Fudge will do. Alice and Sirius talked it over before Sirius went in this afternoon…we all kind of knew what would happen with that."

"Yeah." Tonks grimaced. They'd expected him to be fired, not to quit, but the end result was the same. And so were the reasons.

The Aurors had raided Hogwarts in the dead of night, slipping past wards to which Remus Lupin had given them the deepest keys. Fast and silent, they'd slain four Death Eaters almost without a fight—unfair, to be sure, but Aurors were not trained to be fair. Rules were made to be broken, and when Sirius had ordered them to take no prisoners, Alice and Frank Longbottom had still availed themselves of opportunity and pulled off the coup of the century. Sirius, ever flexible of mind, had just laughed. And commended them.

Of course, now came the downside of initiative. Had Frank and Alice slain their surprised opponents, Rodolphus and Bellatrix Lestrange would not be in Ministry hands, and the Aurors would not be wondering how long they'd stay there. Like the others, Bill had made his own private estimations, and already shared them with his student. Ironically enough, Tonks agreed—as much as she despised politics, she understood.

"It just seems so wasteful," she continued angrily. "Especially since we know what Fudge will do—what Voldemort will push him to do. All in the name of peace."

"There's always an outside chance that he'll do the right thing," Bill pointed out with a shrug.

"Yeah, way outside," Tonks snorted.

Bill sighed. "Something like that."

_And that's why we've already notified the press of their capture. _The two Aurors exchanged a knowing glance. The capture of the Lestranges had made headlines—every major publication ran their pictures on the front page, along with speculation about what _exactly _the Ministry planned on doing with the two longtime Death Eaters. Some demanded their deaths, and others far worse fates—but the Aurors remained aloof. They were waging a different kind of war, now, and it wasn't the one the world needed them to win—but damnit if things weren't _that _messed up, and they didn't have a choice.

-----------

He'd asked to come back alone, and while neither Peter nor James had wanted Remus to take such a risk, they'd agreed to give him the first hour. He was grateful for both the concession and their worry, but Remus needed this hour. He needed to spend the time alone with his battered and tainted school, needed to watch the sun sink towards the horizon and simply _feel_. There was no other way to return save alone. He had to know what had changed…and what hadn't.

"I thought you'd come here first," Snape said quietly, approaching. Remus stood in the front entranceway, breathing the old smell in deep and letting the Font flow through him. It was a good feeling—a safe feeling—a home feeling.

He smiled slightly. "You know me too well."

"I suppose." Snape shrugged, seeming uncomfortable. "When will they return?"

"In a few days." Remus' eyes traveled along the walls as the two strolled towards the Great Hall side by side. Hogwarts had weathered occupation remarkably well, but then again, the school was ageless and more accepting than one might expect. She'd been home to Slytherin once, too, Remus remembered. _And to Severus Snape.__ She'll always be home to him._

Odd how two such different men could love the same place so much, and in the same way.

"I am glad," the other said softly.

"Me, too."

The halls were eerily quiet without students present. Even the ghosts were gone for now.

They entered the Great Hall in silence, and Remus blinked in surprise. Everything was almost exactly as he recalled, from the centerpiece on the head table to the weather in the ceiling. Bright and blue—this was a beautiful day.

"You did this," he whispered, feeling overwhelmed. Remus glanced at Severus in surprise.

Another self-conscious shrug. "I had to do something."

"Thank you."

Severus grunted.

_"You know, in a slightly different world, you might have been me." _

_Tight pale features.__ Two clasped hands. _

_"And had things been just a little different…I might have been you."_

_Another tense nod._

_"Good luck," Snape said, his dark eyes distant. "May it end tonight."_

Remus blinked. A long moment passed before he could shake himself free of the vision—rarely did what the Font produced come so close to reality. Yet Snape _was _standing in front of him.

His hand ran gently over the back of Dumbledore's chair—his chair. Funny how he couldn't remember walking here, touching it. The chair felt somehow dark, a bit tainted…but still Hogwarts'. Still his. For once, the silence was sweet. He was home.

"I apologize for what happened," Severus said gruffly, suddenly. "For…everything."

Being at Hogwarts could make Remus smile. "You did what you had to do," he replied easily. "I always understood that."

"You probably shouldn't." A bitter edge made Severus' voice sharp.

"Why not?"

His companion shot him a sideways look. "I stabbed you in the back, Remus."

"I know," he sighed. "But you'd have died if you didn't, and it turned out all right in the end." _Except for the murdered students, _Remus thought but could not say. Severus would blame himself, and those deaths were not his fault. Voldemort would have found a way to take the school no matter what, and dozens more would have died if Severus had not started the evacuation when he had. Remus shrugged slightly. "What's done is done."

"True."

And now for the words he hated to say.

"You must leave this place."

Remus turned to face his companion squarely, seeing the acceptance in his eyes. Severus swallowed hard, but nodded. The word seemed to come very hard. "Yes."

"Today."

Pain flashed across Severus' face, and Remus desperately wanted to say something different. Something softer.

"So soon?" came the tight response.

"You and I both know that there is no other choice," he said gently. "But not quite yet… We have time."

"Time? Time for what?"

"Time enough." Remus started walking. "Come with me."

-----------

Her first meeting with Fudge's motley collection of Ministers was not going well. For that matter, her first three days as _Fudge's _Minister of Magical Law Enforcement had not gone well, but that was to be expected. She hadn't _wanted _the job, anyway, and would have refused the post had that been an option. Unfortunately, her sense of duty would not let her do so—and nor would Frank. However, Alice could easily see why Sirius had been half-eager to be fired.

The preliminaries (mostly pointless pleasantries) had taken close to an hour, and then Fudge's rant about Ministers disregarding his orders (namely Aurors) took the better part of two more. Then someone—Patil?—had started babbling on about the _progress _peace talks were making (what peace talks? Voldemort refused to consider peace without "sacrifice"). He talked about concord between nations and hope for the future…the drivel made Alice sick. She wanted peace as much as the next witch, but these political idiots were lying to themselves. Alice would have given anything for Neville to grow up in a world without war…but first they had to win that war.

So she sat, stony-faced, waiting for the morons to _shut up._ Alice had yet to say a word beyond a gruff "good morning," and she didn't plan on changing tactics, either. Let the others talk. She wouldn't waste the time or the oxygen. Brooding was preferable to this.

Another two hours passed in this manner, and then another. Afternoon warped into evening, and her stomach rumbled. The idiots had forgotten lunch, too, due to their _important _business. Trying to distract herself, Alice turned her mind to real work. The Aurors would have pulled out of Hogwarts by now, and Remus Lupin returned. Also, by now Sirius must have left Avalon, fading into the mist again…but this time with a bit more warning to those who fought beside him. Fudge would not find him—

_Oh, is that what he's ranting about now? _she wondered, hardly amused. _How appropriate._

The Aurors certainly wouldn't give him up, and Alice only shrugged in response to Fudge's snarled question. The man really wasn't that threatening.

And the damn meeting went on.

-----------

_…so don't miss the Weird Sisters in concert on February 28th, sponsored by your very own WWWonders, Channel Seven on the Wizarding Wireless! This will be a very special concert dedicated to the families of war victims on both sides, and tickets are running out fast! Remember, the Weird Sisters, live in concert in Diagon Alley on February 28th!_

"Welcome back to our regularly scheduled programming. This is Marcy Morales—"

"—And Lucas Dummingston—"

"With today's edition of _Wonder Talk_. As usual, questions have been submitted via Floo and randomly drawn. What's today's first question, Lucas?"

He cleared his throat. "It's a simple question, really, though asked by a clear majority of our listeners. As the entire Wizarding World is now aware, Sirius Black has once again disappeared. So far, he has been gone for just over three days, which brings back frightening memories of his seventy-three day disappearance, when the world shivered in fear without the one man we depend upon to shield us from He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named."

Marcy squeaked. Lucas continued:

"This departure apparently follows a major falling out with Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge, who refuses to comment. Alice Longbottom is now the Minister for Magical Law Enforcement and the Head of the Auror Division, but where has Black gone? And what does he plan?"

"That's not really an easy question to answer, Lucas. Sources indicate that Black's close friends know where he his, though none are willing to say where. I believe that it is safe to bet that he hasn't gone far; if time has proven anything, it is that Sirius Black will always be there when we need him."

"I agree, Marcy, but most of our listeners surely want to know what to think about Minster Fudge's allegations. More than once, he has implied that Black has harmed the war effort, going so far as to call Black cowardly—"

"I do find that very hard to believe, especially of Sirius Black. However, what Fudge is implying, vague though his comments are, sounds serious. Why don't we put the question to our listeners? Is the famed Auror Sirius Black a coward in disguise? And if so, what traitorous act has he committed?"

"Call in to WWWonders on the Floo to respond. Floorators are standing by for your answers."

-----------

The bell tinkled gently as he opened the door, but Sirius slipped by it silently, brushing past a grinning little boy who was on his way out the door. The sandy-haired miniwizard clutched the latest version of Hobson's Junior Wizarding Chess Set to his chest, grinning and giggling—what was it about kids and new toys? Sirius smiled slightly and stepped inside Pendulum Games.

Tucked behind a Muggle menswear shop and invisible to the ordinary Muggle eye, Pendulum Games was the most successful Wizarding shop located outside of designated commercial areas like Diagon Alley. Right in the heart of Muggle London, one had to know where the store was to find it, but everyone who was anyone bought their chess sets at Pendulum Games. Sirius had grown up being dragged to the place—Regulus had loved it—and remembered the owner well. Mr. Bishop. _The _Wizarding World's widely renowned chess expert. He was simply the best.

"Sirius Black," came the familiar voice. "Not quite the man I expected early on a Tuesday morning."

"You were waiting for someone else?" he inquired.

"Not yet."

Sirius smiled. "Good." He finally released the door, letting it click shut behind him. "Then I was wondering if I might take a moment of your time?"

"Of course. What can I do for you?" Bishop replied politely, watching Sirius with unexpected care.

"I'm looking for something."

A mysterious smile. "Most men are."

"True." Sirius nodded slightly in acknowledgement, stepping closer to the counter. The shop was empty, save for the two wizards. "But I'm looking for something unique," he continued. "A balance between light and dark."

"Chess pieces do not come in gray," Bishop replied gravely.

"The world is not a chess board. Nor are men."

Bishop chuckled. "I might disagree and say that a chess game is an excellent analogy for our world—but I digress. You are implying something." His eyes twinkled. "You'd best get on with the conversation before I lose interest."

"Not likely."

"You think not?" One steel gray eyebrow rose.

"Not yet, anyway," Sirius said easily. "Or at least not if you are the man you once were."

"And who do you think I was?" Bishop asked playfully, but Sirius did not miss the fact that the older wizard had straightened slightly and was watching him with something different in his eyes. The amusement remained, but buried beneath the laughter was a lurking darkness, a dangerous knowledge.

"Dietfried Grindelwald."

"Really?" Bishop laughed again. The darkness vanished beneath the amusement as though it had never been there, but Sirius wasn't the sort to sit and wonder if he'd been seeing things. He knew hew wasn't wrong—and that he could not afford to be.

Sirius kept his voice quiet. There was no need to shout. "Yes."

"A dangerous accusation." Brown eyes studied him _very _closely now. "Dumbledore defeated Grindelwald years ago."

"Defeated, not killed."

"That is the same thing, is it not?"

"Not by far."

-----------

"You're crazy."

A deep and irritated breath. "Frankly, I don't care what you think," he responded. "An order is an order, and—"

"Absolutely and completely _stupid_," Alice interjected. "Risky. Wasteful. _Idiotic._ We can't do it."

Fudge went red. "You _will._"

"We'll fail," the new head of the DMLE spat. She'd had the job for all of four days and hated it. Sirius was better for this; at least he could bully this little man, who feared Voldemort's bane.

"You will not fail. You will develop a plan and execute. You will make this _happen_." Fudge puffed up importantly, but there was no give in his eyes. "And _we _will free Azkaban for the first time in eight years."

"In your dreams," Alice muttered darkly.

"What was that?"

She rolled her eyes. "Never you mind." _I sound like Arabella_, she thought distantly. _I hope she never felt like this! _"The point is that such an assault is suicidal. Azkaban is too heavily guarded by Dementors _and _Death Eaters, especially after their loss of Hogwarts, and—"

"I did not appoint you to your present position to list the _problems _for me," Fudge interrupted. "I expect solutions."

_Jackass._

"There _isn't_ one," Alice grated.

"Then find one!"

"And if we fail?" she demanded. "What then?"

"So what if we fail?" the Minister countered, bright red and almost screeching. "At least the world then knows we tried!"

_And that's it, isn't it? _She realized emptily. _Whatever Sirius said to him, or could say to the public, has him on edge and frightened._ And now the Aurors were the only way out he could see. Alice let out a heaving sigh, wishing that she could just hex the idiot on the spot and knowing she couldn't. Still, every word she spoke came out pinched and hard.

"We'll try this, Minister. But only because you are my legal—though hardly _elected_—superior. But I give no guarantees."

"You'd better," he snapped.

"It's a _war_, Minister," Alice retorted. "That means that sometimes things happen—isn't that how you've held onto your coveted job? Without an election?"

That shut him up. Fudge glared, but Alice stalked out.

-----------

"What do you want?"

"I came for your help," Sirius replied honestly. "Or for guidance, anyway."

"In what?" he asked.

"You know what I'm doing. I'm sure that you can tell what I've already done. But what I need to know is that which I can't find in books, in journals. I need to know what you know about his transformation…and how I can stop him."

The other chuckled. "A tall order. What makes you think I'll be willing?"

"Because you don't approve of what Voldemort has done."

"Don't I?"

"No." Sirius shook his head. "If you did, you would have joined forces with him long ago."

Long fingers tapped on the countertop. "Are you so sure of that? Upon defeating me, Dumbledore might have just forced me to go forth and do evil no more."

"He wasn't so foolish. Nor were you such a conventional opponent. Neither of you would have been so cliché."

Grindelwald chuckled again. "Too true." The eyes twinkled, danced. "Let's play chess." He gestured to the back room where there was a game already laid out, but the pieces were not at their conventional starting positions.

Sirius paused, thinking fast. He _hated _chess, though he knew perfectly well how to play—which wasn't to say he was particularly good at the game, despite years' worth of playing with Remus. He was passable, at best, but wasn't quite lunatic enough to enjoy the thought of a match with the man who had nearly destroyed the Wizarding world through his skills at the game.

"I wouldn't want to interrupt a game you've already started," he finally replied.

"Oh, you misunderstand. This is not a game I've started with someone else and am finishing with you. This one is entirely yours, start to finish. You just weren't here for the start," was the nonchalant reply. Unsure if the flash of light in Grindelwald's eye was a twinkle or a darker glitter, Sirius followed cautiously. As the door clicked shut behind him, the other continued:

"My _original_ partner won't be returning to finish the game. Dumbledore's dead, after all. Now the game belongs to you."

------------

The Other Author's Note: I apologize for the delay (again), but this chapter required some special editing, as Grindelwald here is based on Telepwen's Grindelwald in _The King's Players_. The story is posted here on FFN, and I highly suggest reading it—it's downright fantastic. At any rate, stay tuned for PD19: "The Fool's Game," and please let me know what you think!


	20. Chapter 19: The Fool's Game

**Promises Defended**_

* * *

_

_Chapter Nineteen: The Fool's Game_

_

* * *

_

"Have you been here before?" Remus asked quietly.

Severus nodded without a word, his eyes already fastened on the grate. _Good, _Hogwarts' headmaster though quietly. Severus already knew.

He'd intended to bring Snape here eight days ago, but along their walk Remus' sensitive ears had detected a strange noise, which had led the pair to detour into the dungeons…and find a half-comatose Lee Jordan. Not what they expected—even Severus had thought the poor boy moved back to Azkaban with the other hundred-plus children Voldemort had collected. But they'd been lucky. Severus remembered Lord Voldemort moving the boy to Hogwarts, but couldn't say—or know—why. And yet he was there. There and mostly dead.

Thus, Madam Pomfrey had been the third staff member to return to Hogwarts, fetched by Peter only moments after he and James arrived. The matron had clucked worriedly and bossed Remus around in her motherly fashion, going to work on Lee with a vengeance. Meanwhile, Severus and Remus ran spell after spell to ensure that Voldemort hadn't hidden _something _in the poor boy…but there was nothing. Nothing at all.

Strange.

And yet—through the Founder's Door they traveled, and to the Font of Power. Eight days later and with classes scheduled to begin on Monday (just two days hence), it was time. Far past time.

"There is a way to tap into the Font," Snape said softly, his eyes on the rusted grate. "Albus passed it on to you."

"He did," Remus confirmed, noticing the sadness in his friend's eyes. "As I must pass it to you."

"_What?"_

"When Albus brought me here, he said that he _had _to do so. That we all act as we must." Was that fear in Severus' eyes? "And here is where you need to come."

"I—" For once, Severus seemed completely speechless.

"I know," Remus replied quietly. "There is so much I cannot tell you—so much that cannot be explained with _words_. All I can say is that this is your choice…but if you accept, the Font will change your life."

"How?" The question seemed automatic.

"Perception. Power. Connection to the school. Visions."

Only Severus would seize upon the third quality instead of the fourth. "Connection to Hogwarts?"

"You'll know the school the way I do," Remus explained, feeling a catch in his throat. "The way Dumbledore did."

His companion stared.

Remus tried to nod reassuringly, but the effort was worthless. Snape continued to watch him with those hawk-like black eyes, as if he was waiting for something to break, something to crack. To change. To fail. Finally, he turned again to stare at the Font, wonder softening his hard features. One hand reached out, ever so slightly, and hovered above the grate—until it was snatched away and Severus turned to glare at Remus.

"I am a Death Eater," he said, his voice sharp. "I always have been, but you and I both know that I am now _irrevocably _on the side of the Dark Lord. Bringing me here has been both foolish and dangerous."

"Yes. It has."

Black eyes narrowed.

"You'll need what the Font can give you, Severus," Remus replied levelly. "I do not know more—I can see nothing else—but I know that. _And_ _Hogwarts will need you._"

"What?"

Remus closed his eyes. "Before the end, Hogwarts will need you. And I. And all that we can give." A deep breath washed the sudden chill away. "I know what you are, Severus, and so does this school. The Font still wants you."

"You can sense that?"

When he opened his eyes, it was to look upon the mixture of fear and wonder on Severus' face. "Yes."

Hesitation.

"What do I do?"

Remus smiled slowly. Hogwarts breathed in relief.

"I will tell you."

--------------

"We need to wait longer," she said reasonably. Or tried to, anyway. Her nerves were getting frayed. Badly.

"And how long would you have us wait?" Nathaniel Adams demanded. "The Death Eaters are still reeling from the loss of Hogwarts—"

"How do you know that?" Alice demanded. "There is no evidence _whatsoever_ to support that theory. Voldemort was not even at Hogwarts when the school fell. Therefore, I find it difficult to believe that he or his followers are reeling."

"You're missing the point," Adams replied testily. "Of _course _the Death Eaters are confused and weakened by the Aurors' attack. They fought for _years_ to get Hogwarts—and to lose the school so quickly? It's certainly a blow."

"I'm sorry," Alice replied sweetly. "I missed the part where you were a strategic expert. Or where you were a strategist at all."

_But I didn't miss the part where I hate you. Is that clear enough for you, genius?_

"It doesn't take a genius to see—"

"Am I or am I not the only Auror in this room?" she cut him off. No one answered, so she continued:

"The division traditionally gives Aurors a minimum of two weeks' break between important and trying missions. Years ago, when we had enough Aurors to fight multiple battles, no one questioned the need for this rest—but there _is _a need. I will not watch my people burn out because you are in a hurry. There is plenty of time to spare, and the longer we wait, the longer Voldemort has to become complacent. There is no strategic value in rushing matters." Alice paused to glare at the others, all ringed around the table as if they were _important._ "You have tasked me with retaking Azkaban. I have already stated my opinion on the matter, and I still think it's a stupid idea, but the Aurors will do our damnedest to take that island back. But we need time. I need at least another two weeks to plan and train. No less. Then we'll do the job."

Her angry eyes turned to Fudge, daring him to disagree. Idiot though he was, he had to possess a bit of sense. Alice wasn't arguing about the mission, which wasn't the Aurors' to decide, anyway. She just wanted the time to do it _right._

But he didn't.

"Unacceptable," the Minister of Magic stated flatly. "The raid will go as scheduled, in three days time. On the second of the month."

_I know when three days from now is, you bastard!_

"We can't do it. There isn't—"

"No excuses. You will follow my orders."

"Or what?" Alice challenged.

--------------

It was storming again. Day and night. Less than twenty-four hours after Lupin left, after that day that the dawn refused to break, the storms had started. And even the new class of candidates—the brand new class 4905—trained, shivering, in the rain. Bill and Frank were more distant from the process this time, using their own trainees to help the others, and letting Hestia head this class. Somehow, neither could imagine themselves back in those old roles. Not with the pressure Alice was under, the stupid and risky plan they had to help her build. So they simply watched, standing side by side.

Bill shivered. "So what now?"

"We wait. We hope," his friend replied softly, almost under his breath. "We plan behind his back and pray that everything turns out all right."

"I don't like it." There was something wrong in discussing their legal government this way, even if the Minister was an idiot. Even if he seemed determined to kill them all. _Damn everything to hell. Sirius, I understand why you had to go, but how _could _you? How can we manage now?_

Frank shrugged. "Neither do I," he admitted. "But what choice do we have?"

"We could refuse to follow him," Bill suggested half-heartedly, scraping wet hair out of his eyes. He needed to cut it again.

"Do you really want to do that?" the older wizard asked, twisting to stare at him. "Even after everything that has happened?"

"No." he let out a shuddering sigh. "But it's a nice fantasy. Except…" He shook his head.

"Except that it would break the world's trust in us," Frank finished for him.

"Yeah. That."

--------------

Immediately following the meeting, Fudge had grabbed her arm and dragged Alice into his office, slamming the door behind her. For once, the office was completely empty, devoid even of Umbridge, who was _always _by Fudge's side. But the little minister's eyes were hard with anger.

"Don't you _ever _do that again!" he snarled. "I am the Minister of Magic, and a word from me would put you and your precious husband out of jobs, destroy your precious reputation _and_—"

"Is that how you pissed Sirius off enough to make him leave?" Alice asked amicably.

For a moment, she thought that he might hex her, but Alice was not nearly so lucky. Then she'd have had an excuse to hex him back—but no, he suddenly smiled.

"Don't cross me, Alice," Fudge said in an almost friendly tone. "It's not a good idea."

"And why is that?" she snarled.

"Because I am still your legal superior," the Minister said with a gentle nod—the change was almost frightening. "And I still hold your life…and the lives of your Aurors…in my hands."

_And Frank's life_, but he didn't have to say that. The point was admirably clear; Alice could see the glint in his eyes. He was suddenly dangerous, frightening, though not because he could harm her. Fudge was dangerous because he wanted to _survive_, and he could feel his grip on the world slipping bit by bit, and day by day. How far would he go to hold on to power?

"You wouldn't dare."

"Dare what?" he asked innocently.

Alice could feel herself shaking in fury. "Even you know how much our world needs the Aurors," she replied incredulously. "Without the Aurors, your precious peace will vanish—without a way to fight back, you're an easy target! Even you can't deny that."

"No. I can't." Fudge smiled again. "So you'd best keep those Aurors alive, shouldn't you?"

"Don't make this out to be my fault," she spat.

"I'm not blaming anyone. Simply stating…possibilities."

"You're a fool."

He laughed. "So it might seem, Alice m'dear, but all things change."

"Not everything."

--------------

January 31, 1993

**THE EVIL WITHIN**

_By _Charles Lee_, Assistant Editor_

Hogwarts is free. Remus Lupin and Kingsley Shacklebolt are

healing. The students return today, and the world seems right.

Doesn't it?

Yet there is an abnormality within the silver lining. An

abnormality—a darkness—named Severus Snape. He remains.

Longtime Potions Master and Deputy Headmaster of Hogwarts

School, Severus Snape is still there. Longtime _Death Eater _

Severus Snape is still there. One of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-

Named's most loyal, and highest ranking followers, remains at

Hogwarts.

Aurors saw him there as recently as yesterday, just before

Lupin's return. Did he dare face the man he stabbed—so

literally—in the back? Or has he fled? One must hope for the

latter, for such a wizard has no place amongst children. _Any _

children.

A man who is both a traitor and a coward does not belong at

Hogwarts, one of Wizarding Britain's oldest and most magical

locations. His presence alone taints the school, and parents all

over Britain are demanding that he leave.

"I will not send my daughter back to Hogwarts while that _monster _

is there," Paden Patil, Minister for Magical Transportation states.

Previously the father of twins, he lost one daughter in the attack

and is not about to lose another. "If Lupin does not remove him,

the Ministry will."

Parents across the country agree. The board of governors,

however, is strangely silent on the topic, probably caused by the

number of Death Eaters on the board. Each of them is certainly

an old friend of Severus Snape's.

Yet this paper is not. Nor is the government, or the majority of

_good_ people in our world. Join us in demanding that the greatest

traitor of our times—Remus Lupin's once trusted Deputy

Headmaster—be exiled from Hogwarts forever.

--------------

Remus swallowed, watching the sea of faces gather. Ted Tonks stood to his right, looking nervous and pale, but that was almost to be expected—especially considering the mutters in the crowd concerning the _last _Deputy Headmaster. Ted wasn't nearly experienced enough to hold the post, either, but he was the strongest of all available options: Sprout was completely uninterested, Shacklebolt newer still, and Flitwick too scatterbrained. Sinistra might have been a good option, but she was too closely tied to Severus, and if that ever came out…Remus shivered.

No, Ted was the best for the job, even if he'd been teaching at Hogwarts for less than a year. He was smart, resourceful, and innovative— even stubborn to a fault. He wasn't conventional and he wasn't experienced, but Ted was _strong._ They needed that now.

But Remus would have to help him. He'd have to nudge Ted along sometimes, especially with two brand new professors to keep an eye on. One—Libatius Borage—Remus wasn't too worried about; he'd taught at Hogwarts sixty years ago, and though things had changed, he still had a solid grip on how things worked. But the other, his new and flamboyant Arithmancy Professor Merick Plumpton, bothered Remus. Plumpton had been the only one who wanted to be Snape's successor and was also now the only former Slytherin on the staff, which made him the Head of Slytherin by default. That wasn't a position that Remus enjoyed wishing upon a new teacher, but it had happened before. What he did not completely trust was where Plumpton's loyalties lay… Remus sighed. That could not be helped. He'd just have to hold on and hope for the best.

"Ready?" Ted asked at his elbow, swallowing.

"As much as I'll ever be," Remus breathed.

The students had arrived throughout the morning, settling in quietly during the afternoon and mostly keeping to themselves. Sunset, however, had been reserved for Hogwarts' own memorial ceremony—individual funerals were being held by the families of the dead, but Remus felt that Hogwarts had to do _something _for her fallen. Something more than stand by quietly and watch them fade.

At least one had chosen to be a ghost—Remus had caught a glimpse of Victoria Vector as he walked outside, and he spotted her drifting near the edge of the crowd even now. She looked sad but focused, melancholy but accepting…and to her right was another unexpected shadow, this one alive. He'd stay hidden, Remus knew, but he was glad to see Severus there. Out of all those present, Severus probably needed to be here the most.

He stepped forward, staring at those no longer so innocent faces. There were still some bruises, still some surface scars—but the real scars, the important ones, ran deeper and more painfully than those a visual inspection could reveal. And he had helped put those scars there, had caused them with his choice and his arrogance. Remus had to swallow. _I thought they would be safer here. I thought they would be picked off one by one if they stayed at home. I_ knew _Hogwarts would be attacked, but I thought we could keep them safe… I never thought that things would go so wrong._

The heavy weight would not lift off of his chest. Nine students and two professors were dead because of him, and Remus would not forget that. He would not dwell upon it—he could not—but Remus would not forget.

And yet there could have been many more than eleven.

_House after house._ _Street after street._

He could hear the screams even though he knew they were not real.

_Children._

_Cedric Diggory—_

_Angelina Johnson—_

_Both Patils—but not their parents._ _Oh, no. There were better uses for them—_

Faces flashed past his eyes, cold and dead or screaming and dying. Motionless. Rotting. Crying.

_Cho Chang—_

_Kenneth Towler—_

_Roger Davies. Emily Davies—_

_Hannah Abbot—_

_Su Li—_

_Eddie Carmichael—_

So many.

_The Weasleys—_

_Stop!_

Remus wrestled his mind free of the visions with an effort. Ted had been shaking his arm for several moments at least, and Remus was trembling violently—everyone was staring at him. Severus' distant eyes bored in the deepest, seeming to _know_…or at least recognize the signs. A shaky breath did not steady Remus, but the Font washed through him, and he was warm again. The visions faded, replaced by a certainty that things could have been worse. Much worse.

_I still won't forget_, Remus vowed. _Not ever._

He shivered again, but this time the feeling was of his own doing. _No helping that. Head up, Lupin. Move forward. _What was it that Peter had said, so innocently, twenty some years ago? "_We can't help who we are. We can only try to make ourselves better."_ And he hadn't even known. Not then. _My choices are my own. I cannot change them. I can only move forward. _

Remus placed his hands on the podium and began to speak.

"Hogwarts reopens today, eighteen days after students and teachers alike were forced to flee. Classes resume tomorrow, but there are some words that need to be said first…"

He wasn't James, but Remus could speak of the future. He could speak of the past. And he could remind them what Hogwarts stood for, of what two witches and two wizards had _meant _opening the school. More than one battle had been fought over the nature of the school, and he supposed that history would simply count this as another. Yet one more battle…

He did not speak long, merely saying what needed to be said. Divination classes were canceled for the rest of the year, and new professors were introduced. A few muttered under their breath, but there were no objections. Draco Malfoy sneered when Remus reemphasized that everyone was welcome at Hogwarts, provided that they followed the rules and wanted to learn. Marcus Flint was nowhere in sight when Remus mentioned that disrespecting professors or fellow students would not be tolerated, no matter what side of the war one's family was on. Harry nodded grimly when Remus stated that Hogwarts _would _go on, and would continue as the school always had: a center of learning, truth, and open-mindedness.

The students were quiet as he read the roll of the dead—perhaps the truth was finally sinking in for those who had not lost friends or family. A few even cried when the monument was revealed, but most, like Remus, had no tears left to cry. They were spent and quiet, still mourning but understanding that it was time to move on. One by one, many students stepped forward to touch the monument, dropping to their knees in the dead brown January grass to say a few words to those they had lost.

It was a simple monument, a silver eleven-pointed star laid out flat and flush with the ground just outside the gates. Each point was labeled with the name of a victim, and the dates of the attack were listed in the center. **_The Seventh Battle_** **_for Hogwarts._** **_January 13 - 31, 1993._** No houses were listed. Only names, birthdates and death dates. Nothing more.

Almost every student stepped forward, even those whose parents had been part of the attack. Those who did not, of course, were no surprise, though their coldness grieved Remus. _The dead deserve better than your contempt, _he thought, looking directly at Draco Malfoy. The young man sneered again, but Remus ignored him. Foolish posturing made no boy look important.

The students then shuffled off to follow their heads of Houses without protest when the time came, some looking back and others not—though most paused to look at Remus before going, smiling shyly. There were surprisingly many students here—few _hadn't _come back, which both pleased and worried Remus. He wasn't sure what had driven parents from all sides of the war to send their children back into his care, but Remus doubted that it was from any of the pretty and convincing words Fudge had tried the day before on the WWN.

The professors followed Remus out of the courtyard and inside, seemingly afraid to let him out of their sight. Ted even stayed in his office long after the meeting with the heads of houses was complete, watching Remus with his intelligent eyes and seemingly waiting for the world to fall apart. Finally, the headmaster had to usher him out with a gentle word and a softer smile; he wanted to be alone to read the note he'd found sticking out from underneath a small stack of papers on his desk.

It was surprisingly cordial.

--------------

Remus,

_I underestimated you. Both your resiliency and your determination are beyond what I expected from a Hogwarts headmaster, even one of your kind._

_I will not insult your intelligence or your loyalty to your friends by asking you to join me. Though I believe we would both profit from such an alliance, you and I both know that you will never accept. Besides, I am gratified to know that one such as yourself stands by Sirius' side._

_We will meet again. Until that day. _

_Ave atque vale._

_Lord Voldemort_

_of_ _the Second Family, Gaunt_

_descended of the Slytherin line_

--------------

Ye Olde Other Author's Note: Sorry for the delay, but this is my first chapter posted from deployment! I'm busy sailing the big blue sea, out on USS CAPE ST GEORGE (CG 71) and doing the Navy thing. My posting may be a bit erratic in the coming months, but I promise that I haven't given up on the story. So stay tuned for PD20, and please do review!

* * *


	21. Chapter 20: The Heirs Apparent

**Promises Defended**

**

* * *

**_Chapter Twenty: The Heirs Apparent_

* * *

_Dark clouds filled the sky, and lighting illuminated the dark-clad figure as he strode forward, casting strange shadows in his wake. The wind whipped at him like a child's kite, threatening to sweep him off of his feet and send him somewhere, anywhere in the sky. He staggered against the force, and then leaned forward into the weather, scowling slightly before stepping off._

_A second figure appeared before he had moved three feet, making the first man stop in his tracks. He spun, his wand coming up fast and ready. Then a third appeared. And a fourth._

_James Potter smiled. "Do you really think we'd let you do something so foolish on your own, mate?"_

_Black glared._

"_Stupid decisions, after all, are best shared with friends," Remus Lupin added with a gentle smile._

"_You shouldn't be here," Black finally growled, lowering his wand. "None of you should."_

"_Where else would we be?" Pettigrew asked quietly._

Severus' eyes flew open. He jerked back hard, hitting his head against the high-backed chair hard enough to daze himself, and had to bat mussed hair out of his eyes. He hadn't intended to fall asleep while at work—he never did—and why in the world had he dreamed about _them?_ He didn't even have nightmares about those four, though he'd more than once thought he ought to.

As he leaned forward again, Remus' words came unbidden to mind.

"_One of my most common visions is of a storm…of, I think, the end of the war."_ Something pained had flashed through Remus' eyes. "_Or the end of something, anyway."_

Severus blinked. Three days had passed since he'd entered the Font, and he'd not had even a single one of the visions Remus had been so sure he would experience. He'd even started to think—_to hope?_—that he would not have to share such talents, but what if this was…? The thought made him swallow unconsciously, and then twist his lip up in a scowl. Severus had spent his life as a skeptic, barely believing in even the most basic concepts of Divination, believing nothing more than the fact that prophecies _happened._ Visions were nothing.

Weren't they?

"_You shouldn't be here," Black finally growled, lowering his wand. "None of you should."_

"_Where else would we be?" Pettigrew asked quietly._

-----------

"Ready?" Alice asked, trying to keep the exhaustion and strain out of her voice. Frank, however, placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, so the effort clearly had not worked.

"Let's go," he said softly, nodding the others forward. She managed a smile, just for him, but doing so was hard.

Getting to Azkaban had necessitated creativity beyond what the Aurors had used the last time out—then, they had been lucky enough to be able to _borrow _a magically-altered Muggle boat, but now they were not so lucky. _And even if Fudge _did _have something of the sort, I'd not accept it_, Alice thought darkly. Also, the same trick would not work twice, so the Aurors were forced to dredge a solution straight out of the bottom of the barrel.

A few more weeks of planning would have allowed them to come up with something better, but for now, this was the best Alice could do. Their way out was a bit more strategic, but it still wasn't something she would have chosen had there been any time to plan. _Thanks, Fudge. You've managed to muck this one up in _every _possible way, haven't you?_ She tried not to growl under her breath, instead turning to look her team over one last time.

Twenty-one Aurors: all the division could spare, leaving only three behind on Avalon. Hestia, Jason, and Horace were a bit put out at being left behind, but someone had to mind the shop—and the new candidates. Hestia was an easy choice, seeing as how she was their new senior instructor, and Jason was one of her assistants along with being her student. Horace, on the other hand, just had a level head on his shoulders, so he was nominated when Alice could not afford to leave another fully trained Auror behind. There were hardly more full Aurors than there were trainees, and she was going to need all the help she could get.

Deep breath.

Alice lifted her wand, meeting Frank's eyes. As calm as he looked, she could see the tension in his shoulders, in the slight lines on his face. He was worried, too. So was everyone, for that matter. The Aurors knew exactly what they were getting into.

_No guile. No creativity. Hardly any tactics to speak of. _

Just straight up and brutal combat. Something the Aurors had been good at for years. One on one, an Auror could always defeat a standard Death Eater—they were better trained, better supported, and usually selected with far more care. They were the best the world had to offer, whether the battle came on an open field or in the back corner of a shady pub. They had fought fights like this before and won.

It was a recipe for disaster.

-----------

"So tell me, Sirius. What _are _you searching for?" Uncanny eyes followed his every move. "A young and upstanding wizard such as yourself hardly seeks out a _retired _Dark Lord for the educational value of doing so. I doubt I can teach you any lessons that your Hogwarts professors would have wanted you to learn."

Sirius snorted. "I'm hardly upstanding." Despite the seriousness of the situation, he grinned. "And if I wanted to follow their guidance, I wouldn't have chosen the road I am on."

A soft chuckle. "I dare say you would not have. Do you even know what game you are playing, young man?"

"I've a fair idea, yes."

"A 'fair idea,'" Grindelwald mused. "A _fair _idea. You had better know what you are doing, otherwise your much-vaunted goodness will die with you."

"I know what I am doing," Sirius replied.

This was their third meeting, and the least unnerving yet. Both of the previous times, they had simply played _chess, _a game Grindelwald seemed rather obsessed with. They'd not spoken much of important matters, though the topic of ancient Wizarding history had come up once or twice—allowing Grindelwald to crinkle his nose up in disgust at Sirius' lack of knowledge. But he wasn't there to discuss history, or even to play that infernal game so many wizards adored. He was there to _learn_…and Sirius was smart enough to recognize that the chess games were something of a test.

So back he came, each time. One could learn about people simply through watching, and if that was the only opportunity he had, then so be it. Sirius would do what he had to do. This was the enigmatic man who had once intrigued a young Tom Riddle, who had survived reigning—and falling—as a Dark Lord.

"Do you?"

He was leaning on the wall, half covered in shadow, sick of sitting and being proper. "I do."

"I doubt that," the older wizard chuckled again. "But I can't help you. You're on a hero's quest, boy, not that of a Dark Lord." The same twinkle in the still-youthful eyes. "At least not yet."

"I'm on the road of necessity, and it's neither black nor white," Sirius countered.

Grindelwald suddenly became serious. "There are no shades of gray in this world, Sirius. I thought you knew that."

"I do. But there is always red." He looked Grindelwald in the eye, glad to see the glitter that indicated he'd finally won a point. "Which is why I came to ask for your advice."

"And why should I give it?" the other asked immediately.

"Because you want me to become what you are." He knew at least that much, knew the dangers and knew the price. Sirius kept his face expressionless. This was not a new road.

"You already are."

-----------

Just like before, they would go in with two teams; Alice and Frank would lead one, with Bill Weasley and Jessica Avery leading the other. However, unlike before, they did not have a clever entrance route or outside help. Fudge had seemed interested in neither; he wouldn't let any other Ministry department help them, and he refused to give Alice the time to think up something better. He operated under the assumption that the Aurors would figure everything out on their own and create miracles out of powdered sugar when he demanded them—except he'd given them a sack of soggy salt, and Alice had not been able to figure out what to do with that.

Except going for a swim.

In January, the water around Azkaban and Avalon was relentlessly cold, frigid enough to freeze a Muggle in a matter of minutes. Thankfully, Aurors weren't Muggles, and they were well surrounded by warming charms by the time that they Apparated into the water right outside of Azkaban's line of defenses.

Sirius' escape had given her the idea; he'd managed to swim out all those months ago. What kept the Aurors from swimming _in_? So they'd orchestrated the Group Apparation (much like Side-Along Apparation, but a specialty of Aurors alone) with extra special care, and had—hopefully—managed to land two groups of Aurors together on either side of the island.

"Yewch." To her left, Dana bobbed to the surface, spitting out water as she did. Blonde hair stuck to her face, and she swatted it away impatiently, her eyes working back and forth expertly. She was almost ready, Alice knew. Dana was far and away one of the best in her class, and she was better than many active Aurors Alice had known. All she had to do was stay alive, and she'd go far.

"It's bloody cold!" Tom Laurence burst out, splashing around next to his Mentor, Christa Gambledon. Christa laughed tightly, but no one else managed to smile.

"Shall we?" Frank asked her quietly, and Alice nodded, doing a quick head count. Eleven Aurors. Everyone was accounted for. She could only pray that Bill's group had also been successful.

"Yeah. Let's do it."

-----------

"Severus."

"My Lord?" He rose gracefully, his head still trying to swim with visions.

"_In a slightly different world—"_

"_Hello, Tom—"_

"_Remember that list you mentioned…?"_

"…_you want me to become what you are—"_

"…I have chosen you."

He started, struggling to keep the surprise and confusion off of his face and failing utterly. Within a tenth of a second, Severus braced himself for the inevitable curse—how _could _he be so stupid to let his concentration wander? If he wasn't careful, he'd find the Dark Lord rummaging through his innermost thoughts and then everything would be over—_idiot! Get it over with!_ Severus swallowed hard.

"Forgive me, Master. My mind was…elsewhere. Spinning." He'd not been so socially graceless in a decade. Or so unconvincing.

One dark eyebrow rose, and Severus controlled his breathing. It was best to do so before the curse started, because one could then survive the effects better—

"I have chosen you to bring my message to _Minister _Fudge," the Dark Lord repeated. "Unless your inattention implies that I should send someone different—Lucius, perhaps?"

Severus blinked hard. "No, My Lord," he replied quickly. "You honor me—"

"Yes. I do. But you will not disappoint me."

_What is he doing? Pitting Lucius and I against one another?_ "No, My Lord. I would die first."

"I know you would, Severus."

Odd how true that was. Voldemort knew it, too. They both did.

"_I need another batch of your Elixir, Severus."_

"_Yes, My Lord."_

"_When the time comes—"_

He forced his mind free of the sudden onslaught. _Not now!_

But why had the Elixir come to mind?

"What message would you have me bring, My Lord?" he asked calmly, aware of the red eyes watching him calmly—looking for what? Something. Weakness? Strength? Loyalty?

The lines had been drawn. Sides had been chosen. Perhaps he had made his choice by brewing the Elixir, by making Voldemort ageless, immortal. Or maybe he'd done so by stabbing Remus. Either way, Severus was no longer living two lives. He was living one—one he had almost been born for, almost known would be his from the beginning. Why, then, had he left such a road? Suddenly, the old life was very comfortable. Red eyes were watching him, still.

Very comfortable.

-----------

On dry land, moving forward. Bill could only hope that Alice and Frank were doing the same, that they'd made it out of the freezing water and were on the shores of Azkaban.

Odd how the island _felt _like Avalon.

"Ready?" Jessica Avery asked him. Somehow, he'd ended up in overall charge of this mission, despite the fact that she was almost three years senior to him. In the old days, they'd have had one of those uber-experienced Aurors to fall back upon, someone with all the knowledge, with every trick up their sleeve. Someone like Alastor Moody. But now _Bill's _generation was the experienced Aurors; there wasn't anyone else to lean on. And Bill's generation was dying fast. _Dying like Charlie. _

Why did this place make him think of his brother? Why now, when he could little afford to do anything but concentrate? "_We mourn those who have fallen by fighting for them, not by falling ourselves. Get your mind on business, Weasley."_ Moody again. Merlin, how he missed that man, too. Bill nodded quickly.

"Let's do this thing."

Step by step, they crept up the beach. The night seemed unusually quiet—where were the alarms, the Death Eaters? Hairs rose on the back of Bill's neck, making him immediately consider a trap, but he forced himself to discard the notion. Paranoia kept you alive, but it could handicap you, too.

"Dawlish, take point. Oscar, you've got the rear—and don't even _think _about arguing with me, Waters. I'll hex you all the way back to Avalon by myself if you don't shut up," Bill hissed.

"I—"

Oscar grabbed his student's arm, and Waters glared, but Bill could hardly afford to pay attention to them. Heading straight for the Prisoner Delivery Gates—there was no time or planning for finesse—the Aurors stayed low and quiet, waiting for the other boot to fall. Sooner or later, they'd be spotted and have to battle their way in…and twenty-one Aurors against forty-some Death Eaters just did not make for good odds.

-----------

There was a little known back door in Azkaban, leading in right next to the turret that formed the edge of the Lestranges' Azkaban quarters. The Aurors had always known about it, but trying to enter through that booby-trapped and warded door had always been considered something on the dumber side of suicide. It was like ringing the doorbell before trying to rob a house—everyone knew that doing so was a _bad idea_, so they never had to explain themselves. Such stupid things just weren't done.

Until Fudge, the little prick.

"Once you're in, move left immediately," she whispered to her team. "We'll have next to no time, so don't worry about being stealthy—just burst in the door and get out of the way. We've got to get eleven people through that door before all hell breaks loose, and mark my words, all hell _will _break loose. So just get through the damn door and move."

"Don't forget that you've only got seventeen minutes until your wand turns into a Portkey, so move _fast_," Frank added. "Unless Alice or I counter the spell, every last one of us will be back on Avalon in sixteen and a half minutes."

"Is that long enough?" Tom Laurence asked innocently.

"Plenty long," Alice replied darkly.

Dana must have read the look on her face. "Probably too long," she added quietly, calm and collected at her Mentor's side. Damn if Alice wasn't proud of the girl—she'd come so far and so fast. Dana was just about ready to be on her own.

She looked over the others one last time. Sixteen minutes.

"Three," Alice counted down.

"Two." She exchanged one fleeting look with Frank.

_We are so going to lose._

"One."

_No changing that now. Just do it, girl. Fight the good fight, and make the morons see._

"Go!"

-----------

"I beg to differ."

"Of course you do!" Grindelwald laughed. "Not every Dark Lord follows the same path, you know. Riddle seeks power. I was bored. You—_you_ want to save the world. I daresay that makes you the most dangerous of us all."

"I have no intention of becoming a Dark Lord," Sirius snapped before he could stop himself.

"Don't you?"

"_No._"

Another dangerous chuckle.

_Control yourself, Sirius. No use letting the temper out here; that will only make him think he's got what he wants._ A deep and cleansing breath felt neither deep nor cleansing. Then the moment of truth: _Does he?_

"I see it on your face," Grindelwald continued more seriously. "I see the realization, the transformation, in your eyes. You're already on that road, and you hardly need my help there…only with understanding _history._"

Sirius snorted. "Not so much history as Tom Riddle."

"Is that not the same?"

-----------

"Dana!"

She went down with hardly a sound, and Alice's vision went red. She started to leap forward, but a strong set of hands stopped her.

"Stay down!" Francine Hoyt shouted at her, dragging Alice back behind their blasted and crumbled wall of a barrier. "I'll get her."

"The hell you will!" Alice spat, leaping back up.

Too late.

Less than four minutes into the action, Francine went down, landing neatly on top of Dana's body. Neither moved. Neither breathed.

-----------

Six minutes in.

"_Glacialium!"_

They weren't even inside the building. The Prisoner Delivery Gate had opened immediately, easily—too easily. Too perfectly. Dawlish was even six steps away from getting inside when everything fell apart—

"_Vindireperio!"_

Bill dodged. Oscar swore.

"_Offenvox!"_

"_Crucio!"_

Tonks managed to dodge the curse, barely but skillfully. Her eyes met Bill's briefly, dark with the knowledge that everything had gone wrong and they had no way to retreat. But in less than ten minutes, they wouldn't have to. All they had to do was not die. For ten minutes. _Ten long minutes._

"_Imperio!"_ His gutsy student threw an Unforgivable back at her insane uncle-by-marriage, making Rodolphus' eyes widen in surprise seconds before the curse hit. Someone freed him almost immediately, but the effect was worth remembering. Bill smiled hungrily, feeling bloodthirsty. His group had a few minor injuries so far, but this group, led by Rodolphus Lestrange, didn't seem as tough as they did numerous. _Now let's hit them again._

"_Avada Kedavra!"_

"_Avada Kedavra!"_

"_Cadovallum!"_

"_Avada—" _Rodolphus went down, and good riddance to that. The Lestranges had "escaped" in the middle of the previous night, and no one had seen fit to notify the Aurors until fifteen _minutes _before they left. Bill wouldn't have felt remorse watching Oscar fell the Death Eater, anyway, but now he just grinned.

Nine more minutes. Ten Aurors still standing.

-----------

"They're dead!"

Tom Laurence had demonstrated amazing athleticism (and even better luck) by jumping over their impromptu barrier and dodging curses at the same time; now he just had to get back to the Aurors' side without dying. Never mind the news he brought; Alice could not bear to think of that now, not with nine _live _Aurors surrounding her and a battle to be fought. There wasn't time for that cold feeling growing inside.

"Get back here, Tom!" Christa Gambledon shouted after her student, firing curses over his head to cover for him. He dove for cover, and almost made it—but a red light stabbed into his back, and the Auror fell face down. So close.

Alice's wand grew a bit warm. _Eight more minutes._ Halfway there.

"Cover us!" Cornelia Crouch shouted, and she and Frank moved as one. Alice immediately directed her Aurors' magic to shield the pair, and watched with half a mind as her husband and his student dragged Laurence back behind the wall.

"_Stupefy!" _Christa connected with someone. Was that Malfoy?

"_Debellum!"_

No. That was Malfoy. _Who did she hit, then?_

No time to wonder.

"_Crucio!"_ Frank went down screaming; Malfoy's curse was well aimed.

_Not my husband, you don't, _Alice thought darkly. Cornelia was busy with both Jugsons, but Alice had a good line of sight. "_Extundo!_ _Demergos!"_

An invisible hammer slammed into Malfoy, and then quicksand dragged him down. To Alice's right, Frank wheezed, "Good hit."

"Thanks." She could manage a tight smile, and then back to business.

_Seven minutes. _So much could happen in seven minutes.

Fred Randolph went down.

-----------

"Calvin, look out!" Oscar all but dragged his foolhardy student out of the way of a Killing Curse, and Bill grimaced. It _had _to be almost time, but every moment lasted a lifetime. He hadn't lost anyone yet, but Jessica's arm was bleeding pretty badly, and Tonks had been thrown against a wall so hard that she was still seeing two of each Death Eater—which did not seem to hurt her aim one bit. Then again, with at least thirty Death Eaters arrayed against them, it was hard _not _to hit someone.

And then the coldness came.

"Dementors!" Bill gasped, having wondered when the Death Eaters would remember their foul allies. Whoever had taken charge when Rodolphus went down was not clear (and the Death Eaters seemed to be having the same problem answering that question, much to Bill's delight), but they'd finally gotten their heads out of their collective arses enough to remember. "Look out!"

Sweeping in from the left.

"Right side, on three!" Jessica commanded, twisting to face the advancing Dementors. Oscar, Calvin, Dawlish, and Terry Scott did the same. "One! Two! Three—"

"_Expecto Patronum!"_ Four voices cried as one. The dark line faltered, and as the four Aurors held the spell, some Dementors began to fall back.

"_Stupefy! Offenvox! Repellum!"_ Bill was not about to let the Death Eaters take advantage of the situation, not when they were so damn close. _Oh, sh—_

Terry had been too far to the right, and when some Dementors fell back, a few of the others managed to reach out, shrinking back as Tonks screamed out her own Patronus, but stretching their gray and decaying hands out toward the young Auror. "_Terry!"_ Dawlish tried to bellow out a warning, but it was too late. Terry went rigid as the Dementors grabbed him, his body jerking in response.

Three minutes.

"_Contegorum!"_ Bill threw up the strongest Shield Charm he could muster, yelling to Tonks over his shoulder. "Help them!"

"On it!" He could hear her shout to the remaining three Aurors: "Now! _Expecto Patronum!"_

Joyce Rodgers, Simon Edgecombe, and Missy Erickson joined her, and out of the corner of his eye, Bill saw the Dementors waver. There were so many of them, though, and repelling them took more time than they had… _Yes! _Terry hit the ground as the Dementors retreated.

Two minutes.

Bill's head spun, ached, pounded. His shield was fraying at the edges as spell after spell slammed into it, but he struggled to keep the shield firm. They only needed a few minutes—less than one hundred seconds—and then he could pass out.

Ninety seconds.

"I'll get him!" Calvin shouted, just a hair too soon.

"No, wait!" Oscar made a grab for his student and missed; the younger man leapt forward and sprinted towards Terry, his long strides eating up the ground between them. It was only thirty or so feet; the Dementors had not had a chance to drag him that far.

Too far.

"_Contegorum!"_ Tonks' shield spell joined Bill's, and then Joyce's, too; he could breathe a little easier. Oscar and the others were struggling to cover Calvin's heroic rush. _Fool_.

With one minute to go, Calvin skidded to a stop at Terry's side, dropping to his knees and pointing his wand at the other Auror's head. "_Ennervate."_ They could hear the spell, even from so far away; Calvin poured a lot of energy into it, knowing that he'd have to wake Terry up fast. Simon and Missy were busy taking potshots at the Death Eaters, trying to drive them back. The effort wasn't working too well, but they didn't need much longer.

At forty-five seconds, Terry blinked groggily and allowed Calvin to drag him to his feet. He staggered, but did not fall. Still, he had to lean heavily on Calvin, who wrapped his right arm around his fellow Auror for support, dragging him forward. At forty seconds, Dawlish's Snatching Spell yanked his student right out of Calvin's grasp, shouting for Calvin to hurry.

"_Move!"_ Dawlish bellowed, just as Oscar threw forth another Patronus Charm, lacking even the time to warn his protégé. But Dawlish did. "Behind you!"

"Run!" Tonks screamed, then twisted right again. "_Expecto Patronum!"_

Too little, too late. Calvin started forward.

Thirty seconds.

"_Expecto Patronum!" _Simon and Missy.

"Move, damn you!" Oscar paused to shout; his Patronus had faltered slightly, and he'd needed to recast the spell.

Calvin looked over his shoulder, and his stride faltered.

Twenty.

Gray hands reached for Calvin, but he managed to twist aside, avoiding the deadly grasp. His wand came up and around fast, far faster than Bill had ever seen him. His eyes were focused, even; rash though he was, Calvin did not lack courage, and he knew what had to be done. Bill's wand was red hot. _The fifteen second warning. _Last ditch chance.

"_Expecto Patronum!"_

Gray hands wrapped around the Auror's neck just as white light came out of his wand; a nearby Dementor faltered, but not the important one. Not the first one—

"Calvin!"

Bill was never quite sure who said the name. Maybe it was him.

Ten seconds.

"Forward, move, now!" Bill shouted, rising and sprinting for Calvin. Shields hardly mattered now; they'd either be cursed or not as they ran. There just might be enough time.

Twenty feet.

Seven seconds.

"_Expecto Patronum!" _

Nine rushed voices, desperate and ragged. They knew better than to let the strain affect their magic, but there was no avoiding that. Aurors or not, they were on the sharp edge.

Half the Patronii failed. No one could tell which.

Four.

Halfway there. A few Dementors fell back, but with them they took Calvin, lifting his feet off the ground and carrying him away—

Two.

Tonks and Bill launched themselves forward anyway, reaching out. A little bit of a reach and they might just be close—

Gone.

-----------

"Minister Fudge," he said calmly, "I am here for one express purpose, and it is _not _to listen to your diatribe concerning my _evil _ways. Save such convincing words for the public.

"I am present to deliver my Lord's terms for peace. In his generosity, Lord Voldemort has chosen to withdraw from Hogwarts, allowing your Aurors to retake the school. In return, he accepts your release of Rodolphus and Bellatrix Lestrange, both of whom were graciously returned to his presence this morning." Severus nodded courteously.

"This is an adequate starting point," he continued. "However, in return for a complete cessation of hostilities, Lord Voldemort requires the following non-negotiable concessions:

"Confirmation of yourself as Minister of Magic, either through election or decree;

"Immediate passage of specific laws, detailed in the missive I have already given you;

"A complete census taken of all Muggleborn witches and wizards in our society;

"Return of all property seized from my Lord and his loyal followers;

"Closing of Wizarding Britain's borders to foreigners until such a time my Lord determines;

"And finally, the delivery of Sirius Black, with whom my Lord has unfinished… affairs."

The proverbial pin might have dropped without anyone in the room noticing; all dumbstruck eyes were fastened on Severus as if he was some type of exotic talking creature and speaking Swahili. Fudge's mouth opened and closed ineffectively, and he looked ready to whimper. The thought of him doing so was amusing until his mouth _kept _opening and closing, and the Minister began to remind Severus of some of Sprout's uglier plants.

_Don't think of Hogwarts. You are a Death Eater._

_Especially in this moment._

His face, of course, was still expressionless. His robes were immaculate. His pale features might have been a bit sharp, but Snape was the picture of collected power. Controlled. Poised.

_Has the message been delivered, Cornelius?_

"I—I—" Fudge stuttered helplessly. "I'm going to need time to con—"

"You can't seriously be thinking of accepting!" Paden Patil interjected angrily. "He's the man who betrayed Hogwarts! Who caused the death of so many children—"

"Hem, hem. Personal feelings have no place in this discussion, Minister Patil," Umbridge interrupted, smiling serenely at Severus.

"He's a _traitor_!" Patil snarled.

Snape allowed himself to snort derisively. "I am no traitor, _Minister _Patil. We have all chosen sides in this war. I have remained ever loyal to my Lord." He turned his head, ever so slightly, to look Fudge in the eye. "And I have been recognized for such loyalty."

Umbridge was still simpering, hoping that he'd notice her. Severus chose not to.

"I—I need _time_," Fudge pleaded, seeming unnerved. _Good._

Was it wrong to enjoy this? Certainly not when Fudge was squirming so.

"Of course you do," he replied smoothly. "But the Dark Lord is not infinitely patient. I suggest that you do not _test _the limits of his tolerance."

"How long do I have?" Fudge all but whimpered. Severus was already sweeping towards the door.

"Seven days," he said over his shoulder, not looking back. _Never look back. _His mother had taught him that, years ago.

"But I can't!"

"Of course you can," Abner Bode replied harshly. "It's not that hard."

The door shut behind Severus before the resulting argument exploded.

------------

The Other Author's Note: Yet again, apologies for the delay, but deployment is keeping me plenty busy! However, it's pretty neat to be where we are, and if you see USS CAPE ST GEORGE (CG 71) in the news, think of me. Stay tuned for Chapter 21: "The Moment Lost" and hold on tight. Things are going to get worse before they get better.


	22. Chapter 21: The Moment Lost

**Promises Defended

* * *

**

_Chapter Twenty-One: The Moment Lost_

* * *

The Misfits walked together to the Hospital Wing to see Lee, fairly well bursting with excitement and worry all at the same time. On one hand, they were incredibly grateful to have their friend and final comrade back, but on the other…Ginny cringed at the thought. Lee must have seen hell, and worse. He wouldn't be the same any more, wouldn't be able to be. Madam Pomfrey had kept them out of the Hospital Wing until now, probably trying to spare them from seeing the worst—but Harry and Ron both still had Invisibility Cloaks, and all six of them had snuck in a few nights ago, just to see how Lee was doing. They hadn't woken him, of course, but they'd stood a silent vigil for about an hour, watching over the friend they had lost and regained.

Today, however, both cloaks had been left behind because Professor Lupin had told Pomfrey that it was time. So they slipped through the partially open doors, silent and serious enough to confuse any of the Misfits' denser classmates. But this was not a time for jokes, and they did know the difference.

Lee lay quietly on the bed when they reached his side, clearly sleeping. His face twitched every now and then, indicating that he wasn't entirely peaceful—but he looked so much _better _that it took Ginny's breath away. Last time, horrible nightmares had a hold on Lee, but now he looked peaceful. Perhaps even normal. _Don't hope, Ginny. And don't let the others. We all know that can't be true, not yet. _She sighed quietly and took her glasses off to rub her eyes. They would wait and hope.

Almost two hours passed, in which Madam Pomfrey tried to throw the Misfits out at least four times. George asked her why every time, but she'd only been able to answer that they didn't _need _to see the "worst of this," the same words she'd used every time. Ginny had to smile wryly at that matron's tone—what was Pomfrey worried about? Did she fear that seeing Lee's battered condition might shock them? That they might lose their innocence?

_If only she knew._ Ginny grimaced. She'd forgone innocent dreams and expectations when Charlie had died. That day, she'd realized that war was not a distant evil, and she'd understood that this one would continue for decades more. Ginny would leave Hogwarts in just over six years. She fully expected to have to fight when she did.

Lee stirred, moaning softly. Immediately, Pomfrey spun into action, casting diagnostic spells, bringing a glass of water to the bedside, and easing Lee into consciousness. This was not the first time Lee had awoken, of course—Pomfrey would never have let them be present for _that_—but it was the first time anyone other than professors or his mother had been present.

Ginny held her breath as Lee's eyes flew open, wide and wild and frightened. George, reaching for his old friend's shoulder, jerked back as Lee tensed. His worried eyes sought Fred's, and then the twins looked back at Lee. Pomfrey spoke quietly to Lee, reassuring him, but Ginny did not notice the words, and she was sure Lee did not either. His eyes were too busy darting around the room, from George to Fred to Hermione to Ron to Ginny and finally to Harry. His expression eased a little as he focused on each, seeming to relax as he laid eyes on Harry.

_Strange._

------------

But Lee was paying attention to Fred now, listening to Ginny's brother's hesitant words with tired awareness. She didn't pay too much mind to what was said; Ginny felt out of place here—she didn't know Lee as well as the others did, and knew he'd always seen her as the twins' baby sister. That had never bothered her before, and didn't really now, although she did feel like she hardly belonged in the Hospital Wing for such an important moment.

"Thanks for coming. All of you," Lee said softly, proving her wrong with a wan smile.

But his eyes were still frightened. Fiddling nervously with her glasses, Ginny figured that was to be expected. How could he not be? Only fifteen days ago, he'd been in _Voldemort's _hands, and Merlin only knew what the Death Eaters had done to him. _I'm not sure I want_ _to know, either, _she thought, swallowing hard. Still, Pomfrey had already found a therapist for Lee, and his mother was staying at Hogwarts to help him. All they could do was be his friends, and Ginny figured that the Misfits could help him through this. Together.

George replied to a quiet question of Lee's as Ginny slid her glassed back on; playing with them was a nervous habit she needed to break. So she folded her hands primly and struggled to stay still.

"We'll have you on your feet in no time," Harry put in hesitantly, and Lee's eyes turned to him again.

"Yeah."

Suddenly, Ginny realized that she had been holding her breath and not knowing why. She heaved a sigh, tried not to fidget, and focused on what Hermione was adding to Harry's comments. Something about pranks and…

"I'm sorry to hear about your parents," Lee interrupted. "I know how it feels." He swallowed.

Hermione nodded quickly, but Lee's eyes were still on Harry. Emotion flickered across Lee's exhausted expression and—

Something was wrong.

George forced a smile. "So, how long do you think Pomfrey will keep you down, Lee?" The matron had walked away when Ginny hadn't been paying attention. "Things haven't been the same without you."

"Not at all," Fred chimed in. "The younglings are too inexperienced."

"Hey!" Harry and Ron exclaimed together, but the twins kept going.

"No sense of history."

"No depth at all."

"No—"

"Lack of common sense?" Hermione cut George off, smiling sweetly. The twins grinned widely, and the others chuckled, only a bit uneasily.

Lee managed another tired smile. "I can't wait," he said softly.

"We can't either," Hermione replied encouragingly. She still looked so worried, though the boys' expressions were easing—but Hermione was always a worrier, so things were normal there.

"You just need someone else to share the blame," Lee whispered hoarsely, something flickering in his eyes.

Something—

"We ought to go," Ron put in. "You look really tired."

"No." Lee's eyes went wide. "Don't go."

The standing Misfits exchanged uneasy glances, then Fred forced another smile. "All right," he replied cheerfully. "We'll stay forever, then."

"And ever," George confirmed, flopping casually against the bed. "Soon, you'll be wishing you were rid of us."

"We're such a nuisance, after all," Harry added. "Always playing pranks and all. Professors hate us, you know."

Lee's eyes never left Harry's face.

Ginny did not hear his forced reply. She only felt her own eyes widen, felt her heart start to pound. _Something is wrong!_ Very wrong. Fear flicked through Lee's eyes—gone in an instant—and Ginny found herself fidgeting again. She forced herself to breathe regularly—this had to be her imagination—and tried to refocus on the conversation.

"So, just last week we—" Ron.

Lee's left hand was drifting, and suddenly _her _sweaty fingers wrapped around her wand. Ginny didn't remember reaching inside her robes.

"So, then Professor—" Hermione, smiling hesitantly.

"_These glasses may seem normal, but appearances are often deceiving. Much like a certain map that your brothers have inherited, these glasses give you the power to know what lies on the other side of walls. However, not all walls are physical, and these glasses, when worn, can breach them all; they will give you the vision to see through walls of untruth, of disguise, and of desperation…"_

George's robes were a bit askew from leaning on the bed, and his wand was sticking up under his armpit. Ginny doubted that he'd noticed, because he was too busy trying to cheer Lee up, but Lee's hand was still inching across the bed…and Lee's eyes were still on Harry, growing wide and frightened.

_Oh, no._

"Don't do it," she whispered unconsciously, too softly for anyone else to hear.

Except for Harry, who turned to face her. "Huh?"

Something was _so _wrong.

Lee's face twisted in horror as his hand darted out, moving in a blur no one recognized as dangerous—

"Don't do it!" Ginny shrieked as George's wand leapt into Lee's hand.

At the last moment, Lee's anguished eyes met hers, and Ginny understood. By then, her wand was already out, already pointed at their battered friend.

"Ginny, what are you—" Hermione started.

"No!" Lee howled. The wand came up, arching around towards a wide-eyed Harry.

"What's all this shouting?" Pomfrey demanded, and her footsteps rushed in their direction. Ginny ignored her; there wasn't time.

"Madam Pomfrey, quick!" Hermione shouted.

"Lee, don't!" But she knew he couldn't help it.

"Ginny, stop!" Fred shouted, trying to grab for her arm. He still hadn't seen.

"Lee, what—" Harry cut himself off when the wand stopped, pointing directly at his face. But it shook unsteadily, and tears poured down Lee's face.

"_Stupefy!"_ Ginny shouted,

Lee collapsed back against the bed.

------------

He sat by himself again, wreathed in darkness, even though he had promised the others—and himself—that he would not. But Sirius _had _to. Over the last few months, he had learned so much and come so far…but not far enough. Not yet.

Grindelwald had been right. The game was not so much about power as perception, and he who possessed the initiative would call the last play, the one that _mattered_. The one Sirius had to control if he was even to have a chance at winning. He had once sworn to become what Voldemort had, to follow the road of a Dark Lord. At the time, Sirius hadn't fully realized that his split-second decision to change would mean more than developing Voldemort's powers, but he was trapped by that oath. Doing so had not been the smartest choice he had ever made, for all the necessity that drove him. Still, Sirius had done so…mostly.

"_Learn the rules your opponent plays by," Grindelwald had said over yet another game of chess. "Only then can you draw him out and force him to play by your own."_

That, however, was a lesson Sirius had learned long ago, even if he had not realized it then. A lesson that had been cemented by stepping around a simple corner.

"_You have a choice," the Dark Lord told him immediately. "One I would not offer to someone of lesser blood."_

_Sirius arched an eyebrow. He knew what was coming, knew what his answer had to be, no matter what. Yet he had to struggle not to swallow in anticipation, and maybe in a little fear. Maybe._

"_Join me. You are not the coward your younger brother proved to be." Burning red eyes glared and made him shiver. "The fact that you are here proves you have courage, and you would do well in my service."_

_Chained with his back against the hard stone wall, Sirius answered: "See, there's the problem. I don't do well _serving _anyone."_

_Being flippant was a mistake, of course, but he did not yet know another way to act._

"Crucio!"

_Blinding pain hit him—pain that, in retrospect, seemed so minor. Still, a long moment passed before the curse was lifted, leaving Sirius panting and shaking in agony. Voldemort continued calmly._

"_And James Potter?_ _Do you serve him by dying?"_

"_Better than by betraying him," Sirius gasped._

He hadn't learned to play by other rules for many years.

_Year ten._

"_You continue to intrigue me, Sirius," Voldemort said quietly._

"_Glad to hear it," he wheezed. "Otherwise, there's not much point in keeping me around."_

"_Or alive," the other pointed out dispassionately, but Sirius had long since grasped the intricacies of this dynamic._

"_Or that."_

_Odd how he had no fear of death now._ _In his more lucid moments, did he know that Voldemort would not kill him, or was he simply insane? There was so little difference these days._

_A hand landed on his face, and Sirius cried out in pain. Blood splashed down his throat, burning, and he felt like giant knives were shearing his jaw off. Voldemort whispered: "Just reminding you."_

_The hand lifted, and Sirius wheezed._

"_Thanks. I had forgotten."_

"Carnificius."

_The oldest of torture spells, this one was notoriously easy to counter, which had eventually made knowledge of the Carnification Curse almost completely extinct. However, Sirius was in hardly any condition to react, let alone fight the spell, which was different from the Cruciatus Curse in many ways. Both more bone-jarring and blood-curdling, the Carnification Curse often had the side effect of pulverizing bones instead of just causing muscle spasms. Sirius screamed, and everything went black._

His hands moved, silent and deadly, practiced now. Light flashed between them, and Sirius let it vanish into the night. Moments later, the power impacted with a nearby hillside and sent dirt and grass flying everywhere.

Good. It worked.

Sirius lifted his wand again and Apparated home. He was ready.

------------

"..em. The same way, every night. I've watched."

"I'm sure you have," Amanda Pieters replied, scowling. This entire conversation was leaving a rotten taste in her mouth; she happened to _like _the target in question. But when one picked the winning side, you couldn't be particular about your friends.

Or your informants. And as the old adage went, if you wanted something done right, you had to do it yourself. She couldn't stand this prickly, arrogant, and over confident woman, but a source was a source, and the Dark Lord demanded revenge. _Idiot._ _I hope someone catches you in the act and executes you for treason. At least then _I _wouldn't have to listen to your voice._

"I find your tone hardly complimentary," the other woman snapped. "I'm passing valuable information on to your Lord—"

"_Our _Lord. You are his as well."

"I merely pass information. Doing such a thing is not the same as what _you _do," was the superior reply.

Pieters snorted. "Sure it isn't."

_But it'll get you just as dead._

------------

He should have seen it sooner. Should have realized that Voldemort could never allow such a thing to exist…but then again, he'd never quite heeded Dumbledore's words. "_I urge you to make use of my memories in any way possible, Remus, for they certainly do me no good now. I have learned many lessons in my long life, both good and bad, and I sincerely hope that you do not make the same mistakes."_

Yet he had.

He had forgotten.

Remus swallowed hard, and the closed the cabinet doors on the shattered Pensieve. For the most part, his office had remained untouched—strangely enough, Voldemort appeared to have used the desk and materials to write a few letters (perhaps memoirs?), but for nothing more. Odd; he had expected to find a disaster akin to what Voldemort had done to his body. Yet the Dark Lord had always been full of surprises, and this day was no different.

_Why the Pensieve? _

There was a logical answer, of course. There had to be _something _in there that Voldemort did not want known, did not want Remus to find—_something he doesn't want me to tell Sirius_, Remus realized with sudden clarity. He swallowed hard, shook his head. _How could I be such a fool? _He had always assumed that the Pensieve would be there when he needed it, that Dumbledore's memories would be available…yet he'd never used them. Why? Had he feared destroying the mystery surrounding the late wizard? Possibly…or maybe Remus had just been afraid of what he might find.

And now he would never know. For a moment, Remus slumped against the cabinet doors, feeling dizzy and empty. Foolish. He should have known better. Then he smiled wryly. Despite all his wisdom, despite all the foreknowledge the Font had given him, he was still human. Remus smiled lopsidedly. _Dreadfully so_.

He stepped away from the cabinet, then turned back to give it one last look. Almost without meaning to, he whispered: "What were you hiding?"

But there was no answer, and the mystery remained.

The walk home was short, and he'd always walked it. Even in the darkest times, Peter had found the walk from the Ministry to his flat a good way to clear his head, an appropriate way of leaving the day's worries behind. There was something about Apparation that simply didn't allow one to do so; perhaps Apparation was just too fast and too easy.

He had plenty of worries to leave behind today, too. Even though Fudge had fired him from his slot in the upper levels of the Ministry, Peter still worked there. He was also the only man that the French ambassador had agreed to negotiate with, and he'd been spending every waking minute struggling to keep the French in the alliance against Voldemort. As recently as two months ago, other nations had shown interest in joining Britain's cause—but no longer. Now, even their closest ally was wavering, and Peter was terrified that he wouldn't be able to convince them to stay. Six days of constant talks had gotten them nowhere at all, and Peter's concerns kept growing. So Peter walked. Just like he did every day.

"_Crucio!"_

Peter screamed in pain. Air rushed out of his chest as he fell to the ground, twitching and screeching, unable to react. His mind was a blur. His nerves felt ready to explode.

It was a typical human reaction. His attackers had every reason to expect that he'd be just like every one else. Except for one thing that they'd forgotten.

Peter Pettigrew had been a Death Eater.

In 1981, he had made a fateful choice. Perhaps not for the best of reasons, but Peter had made that choice. And he'd walked the road that his attackers still walked, played the evil role and betrayed good people. Now he regretted the choice. He still worked to overcome it, to repay a dept that could never be repaid. But along the way, he'd become rather accustomed to the Cruciatus Curse. After all, Peter Pettigrew hadn't ever been a very _efficient _Death Eater.

So he had a lot of practice.

Peter rolled desperately, knowing that was the only way to break the curse loose. Sure enough, the caster hadn't thought he might move and wasn't paying enough attention—the curse snapped. Someone swore—Peter thought he sounded like Harper—as the former Death Eater fumbled for his wand, trying clumsily to get up at the same time. His limbs felt heavy. His head felt the size of a hippogriff.

"Urghh…" He lurched to his feet.

"_Stupefy!"_

Somehow, he stumbled aside, wand in hand. Peter squinted in the dim light offered by that single streetlight, trying to make out his foes. There were two of them—or was that a thir_rrr_—?

"_Crucio!"_

"_Rumperis!"_

"_Vexameum!"_

Something cracked—something snapped—something broke. Peter screamed and screamed, felt himself hit the ground again and was immediately unable to move. There was too much pain, too much—

Blackness.

------------

"You will not see me again," Snape said softly, his voice oddly devoid of bitterness. "Not after this day."

James twisted in his chair to face the other man, noticing the acceptance with which Snape said those words. Had he not known better, he might have thought that Snape was…at peace with his decision. That the Death Eater turned member of the Order of the Phoenix's Inner Circle was _relieved _by the recent turn of events. James swallowed, shaking his head slightly_. Perhaps he's simply tired of acting. I know I would be, in his place._

Still, when a wry smile crossed Snape's face, James realized that this was the happiest he'd ever seen the other man.

"I understand," he replied, squelching his doubts.

"Drink this," Snape continued briskly. "Half now, and half tonight. At midnight."

"Why midnight?" James asked curiously.

"There are some things even you don't want to know, Potter," the other retorted. "Suffice it to say that some potions work better amongst the _darker _hours."

"Did you use Dark Magic in this?" James demanded. A cold chill ran down his spine, and he studied Snape closely. _Would even _he _dare?_ The former Minister of Magic swallowed hard. _Yes. Yes, I believe he would._

"Do you care?" Snape asked archly.

For a long moment, all he could do was stare into the standing man's black eyes, hearing that question over and over again in his head. _Do I care?_ James shuddered, almost ashamed for wondering. For _wanting._ He was a better man than that, wasn't he? Wasn't he one of the good guys? An eternity of soul-searching later, he had to answer honestly.

"Not as much as I should, no."

Snape snorted without humor. "Good, then. Too much morality does not become you."

James scowled. _How dare even he—_

"There is no Dark Magic in this potion," Snape cut the thought off with unusual forbearance. Then his face grew grim. "However, there _was _Dark Magic in the potion that paralyzed you, so take this as instructed. If you do not, the effects may be…severe."

"I understand," James replied softly. "And I am grateful. Really."

"Hm."

"I am…Severus. Honestly." He managed a smile, which was not returned—but then again, he did not expect it to be. "Thank you."

"You are welcome," was the stiff reply. "And goodbye."

------------

"_Ennervate."_

Peter groaned. Everything was spinning; the world was at an off kilter angle and bouncing up and down. Even when he forced his eyes open, he couldn't see anything. A long moment passed before he was sure that he was even breathing.

Then he heard the voice. Voices?

"Wake up, Pettigrew," someone snarled. "Traitor."

A foot contacted with his rib cage, and Peter grunted in pain. Then something jabbed in again, and he gasped. It _burned!_ Breathing was suddenly hard. Harder.

"Easy, now," another voice drawled. "We wouldn't want to kill the Dark Lord's newest example." Malfoy. Impossible to miss that condescending tone. Hearing it made Peter want to weep; why was it that Lucius Malfoy tainted every important decision of his life?

He blinked groggily. After several seconds, Peter managed to focus again on what looked like two Malfoys, three Dolohovs, at least one Smith and another Yaxley. He blinked harder, sure that he was seeing more than quadruple, that his mind was making up faces. _They really needed four Death Eaters to deal with _me_? Peter Pettigrew? The coward? _

"Can you hear us?" Melissa Smith growled.

Peter managed to "Umgh" through the stickiness in his throat.

"Good enough," Malfoy declared. Peter squinted to focus on him. "Now listen closely, traitor. Our intention is not to kill you. It simply wouldn't do to destroy one of the Famous Four before our Lord is ready."

Peter swallowed hard, not sure if that was good or bad. But doing so made breathing a bit easier.

"Then what do you want with me?" he asked hoarsely, surprised at how level his own voice sounded. Was that because Malfoy said they weren't going to kill him, or was he just getting used to life and death situations?

"All in good time," Yaxley purred. "_Crucio!"_

The world exploded, and Peter screamed. Dimly, he heard someone laughing, but he could not tell who through the pain. The curse continued until he was right on the verge of passing out, and then stopped without warning. Of course, they were experts at knowing that exact moment—and Malfoy, at least, knew how to tell _Peter's _exact body language before passing out. So Peter lay twitching and panting until Malfoy spoke again.

"I'm sure you're beginning to comprehend the theme of this little meeting, Pettigrew," the Death Eater said conversationally. "Are you not?"

"I—" Peter swallowed back the lump in his throat, coughing. "I—"

"_Crucio!"_ Malfoy snapped, and Peter's back arched off of the ground and slammed back down again. His throat was already raw; at this point, he'd have given almost anything for a glass of water. Soon, he'd start muttering gibberish—Peter knew himself. He didn't have that much control… Then the pain stopped.

Peter groaned again, coughing up blood. His vision swam when he opened his eyes, but he focused more quickly this time. Practice, perhaps?

"Do you understand yet, Pettigrew?"

"Or do you need another lesson?" Dolohov demanded without giving him a chance to reply. Smith and Yaxley laughed with him as Peter shook his head wearily.

"No," he managed hoarsely. "I understand."

"And what do you understand?" Malfoy asked with exaggerated patience.

"The Dark Lord does not forget," Peter recited by rote. He remembered.

"Good," Malfoy praised.

Heartbeat.

"_Crucio!'_

Peter had time to brace himself, but doing so did not help. Every nerve exploded anyway, and bracing oneself never did a damned thing. Still, perhaps his screams weren't as loud, and Peter didn't grovel or plead. He was proud of himself for that. The others must have noticed, because he was again near passing out before the curse was removed.

He tasted blood and realized that he must have bitten his tongue. It hurt almost as much as the rest of him did.

"What else do you understand, Traitor?" Smith demanded. "Do you think there's something else to _remember?_"

Peter didn't even have the energy to moan. He just lay on his back, staring up at her. _When did I end up on my back?_ Everything was getting fuzzy. Peter blinked confusedly.

"No answer?" Smith snickered. "Well, then—_Crucio!_"

And Yaxley—"_Rumperis!"_

He yowled, and something broke. Everything burned. _Make it stop!_ His throat had to be torn bloody, but Peter wouldn't give in. He wouldn't plead. He would not break. Not now. Even if it killed him, Peter had come too far. He'd grown too much. And his friends—

_I am a Marauder, _he thought with sudden clarity. _I made mistakes, but I'm still one of them, and I'll hold out like the others, no matter what it takes._

Hovering on the edge of consciousness, Peter suddenly felt at peace. He barely heard the last words Malfoy spoke:

"Tell your friend that this is the price he must pay."

------------

The Other Author's Note: Here she is, and please review! I really enjoyed writing this chapter, and I'd love to know what you all think. Stay tuned for the next one—it's done and getting ready!


	23. Chapter 22: Dark of Today

**Promises Defended

* * *

**

_Chapter Twenty-Two: Dark of Today_

* * *

The pair shared a rambunctious dinner, Sirius' first back at Hogwarts since he left the previous March. He felt a little out of place, a feeling exaggerated by the fact that three quarters of the student body were staring at him in awe and the rest in sheer hatred. The Slytherins, of course, were easy to deal with—their animosity felt just like a family reunion—but Sirius still found the hero worship hard to handle. _Serves you right, _he told himself with an irritable smirk. _You _could _have stayed in Azkaban and out of the public eye. _Amazing how he could drive himself crazy, too.

"This is Lily's fault, you realize," Sirius finally groused.

"Oh?" Remus chuckled.

"Definitely. If she hadn't bailed on dinner, you wouldn't have chickened out of going to the Three Broomsticks instead of eating here."

"It is a school night, Sirius."

"So?" He grinned boyishly, and the expression felt _real. _He was finding the equilibrium—he really was—despite what Grindelwald had said. Sirius felt a momentary flash of guilt for not sharing his newest source of knowledge with his friends, and he suppressed the feeling only with an effort. He shouldn't keep this from them and he knew it, but he'd promised Grindelwald that he would tell no one. Despite his reputation, Sirius did not make promises lightly, and he respected Grindelwald. He did not agree with what the old wizard had been, but the sad and sorry truth was that Dietfried Grindelwald was not an evil man.

He'd just been bored.

"So, some of us have common _sense,_" Remus retorted, snapping Sirius back to the present.

Sirius shrugged. "Not my fault you're boring."

"After this evening, I could use a little boredom," Hogwarts' headmaster replied frankly. His tone made Sirius swallow.

"Yeah. That wasn't pleasant."

"No," Remus breathed. "It wasn't."

Sirius and Lily had come to Hogwarts for anything but social reasons; called by Remus to look at Lee Jordan, the pair had ended up in a two hour long battle with what they now recognized as an advanced variant of the Imperius Curse. Remus, Snape, and Pomfrey had cast Reprimperio on Lee days ago, but the new spell seemed to resist detection by those means. And any others.

_Had little Ginny Weasley been a little slower with her wand, it would have resisted a lot more than just detection, _Sirius thought darkly. There was a girl who bore watching for the future. Half-heartedly, Sirius wondered if he could convince her to become an Auror. _Assuming I ever go back._

"I'm glad you broke through that," Remus interrupted his thoughts again. "Lee…the poor boy's already seen enough."

"Tell me about it." In ripping Lee Jordan's mind free of Voldemort's powerful spell, Sirius had gotten a very personal glimpse of Lee's memories. Some fell too close to home for comfort, but that was not the point. Sirius had not been fifteen years old.

Still, Lily's inability to crack the spell had come as a surprise. She was the expert, after all, but Remus' foresight in bringing Sirius to Hogwarts had turned out to be useful. Sirius might not have been the practiced spell maker that Lily was, but he knew Voldemort. He could recognize patterns and power, which had allowed him to break the spell while Lily dissected it. The approach wasn't perfect—the process had taken almost the entire two hours—but it worked. _Even if I wouldn't want to try that on a conscious subject._

But they had succeeded, even if Lily had skipped out on dinner to spend time with James. Remus and Sirius could deal with that, of course. She'd been dumping them to see James for years.

The two exchanged a sudden grin, sharing the thought. It was good to be back at Hogwarts in so many ways, and Sirius supposed that he'd visit a particular passageway before returning to Grimmauld Place that evening…just because he could. Remus spoke softly: "It's good to see you smile."

"Isn't it?" Sirius replied lightly, and they both knew his tone. The Great Hall was hardly the place for old pains and memories.

"Yeah" His friend sipped at his pumpkin juice, then changed the subject. "Anyway, speaking of relationships, how are you and Julia?"

"Oh, you know how it is. We see each other about once a month."

"That bad?"

Sirius shrugged. "Sometimes. I really just wish she'd stayed _safe_, but it's Julia. She's terrible at blending in."

"And at being subtle," Remus supplied.

"Yeah, I don't suppose that _is _a word you can use to describe her," he said fondly. "More like outgoing, rebellious, and just a little cocky."

"Sounds like someone else I know." Remus laughed.

"Who, Peter?"

-----------

"Where have you been?" Fudge snapped as Umbridge walked into his office. Alice restrained the urge to smile, but she did note the fact that the "little fool" was showing the strain enough to snap at even his closest ally. _Not the poised politician now, are we, Fudge? _

"Hem, hem. I was…working," Umbridge replied archly, spearing the small man with a glare. Fudge grunted.

"Have you seen this?" he demanded, throwing the most recent issue of the _Prophet _at his deputy. Despite herself, Alice winced. She didn't _like _the headlines, but she had told Fudge they were unavoidable.

Not like he'd listened.

**AURORS BEATEN BACK AT AZKABAN:**

**GROUND GAINED BY HOGWARTS VICTORY LOST AGAIN**

The words were ugly, but they were true. Sirius' daring attack on Hogwarts had been pure brilliance—but more importantly, it had been well planned and carefully _timed. _The forced assault on Azkaban had been neither, and four Aurors had died because of that. Another had been captured, a fate which all Aurors considered to be worse than death. At least death meant release.

Alice tore her mind away from the recent loss; thinking about that hurt too much, and any weakness she showed here would mean an end. _She_ had demanded this meeting, and she'd damn well tell Fudge exactly what she thought. Enough was enough. She started talking as soon as Umbridge settled her fat carcass into a seat.

"_This_," Alice stressed, pointing a harsh finger at the article. "Is almost one hundred percent true."

"Excuse me?" Fudge replied unevenly. Good. She'd caught him off balance.

"I said that the article is right. We've forfeited every advantage we had, and we lost _four _Aurors doing so. Five, really, because a captured Auror is worthless."

"And whose fault is _that_?" Fudge snapped back.

"Yours," Alice replied mercilessly. "I told you that we weren't ready. I told you that we would fail. The fact that you chose not to listen is your problem, not mine." Her voice grew hard. "Or it would be, if not for five Aurors who would be home with their families if not for _you._"

Fudge shot to his feet. "Now see here—"

"No, you see," Alice cut him off, uncoiling from her seat like an overstressed spring. "One more move like this out of you and the Aurors will be finished. I will _not _allow that, and the Aurors will not follow you to disaster."

"Are you threatening me?"

"Oh, I'd _never _do that," she retorted.

Umbridge tried to interject: "Hem, he—"

"Shove it," Alice cut her off, too. "I'm not talking to you."

"You're going entirely too far!" Fudge squeaked. "The Aurors are legally bound to obey the Ministry in all things, and if you even think you can get away with going rogue, think again! Why, I'll have your head if you so much as try!"

Alice snorted. "If I wanted to go rogue, Cornelius, I'd have done so when you fired Sirius Black." She glared at him and was satisfied to see him wither slightly. "_However, _am not I a fool. The Aurors will continue to follow your orders, _so long as those orders will not get us killed needlessly._ Aurors do not fear losing their lives, but I'll be damned if I let them die for no reason. It ends here.

"You tell us what you want, and we'll figure out how to do it. My timetable. My way. No negotiations."

Fudge laughed hollowly. "Alice, m'dear, what makes you think I won't just fire you?"

"Because you'd have one hell of a time trying to find someone to take on this worthless job."

"Oh, I'm sure there are others." He grinned smugly. "In fact, you'd best pack your—"

"Before you go down that road, think _very _hard about what is about to come out of your mouth," Alice said coldly. "Because if you want to play _that _game, I'll go to the press."

"Hem, hem. Mrs. Longbottom, I don't think there is—" Fudge cut Umbridge off, demanding:

"With what?"

"Oh, I'd start with your criminal mismanagement of this war," the Auror replied conversationally. "Then I'd move on to the fact that someone betrayed the Azkaban mission. _Then _I would mention the fact that you are currently considering _peace _terms from Voldemort." She smiled nastily at him. "I'd say that will create quite a stir. Wouldn't you?"

Fudge went red. Umbridge went pale.

"You wouldn't dare!"

"Oh, do please try me." Alice almost wished he would, as disastrous as it would be for the Aurors.

Fudge was almost purple, and Alice had begun to wonder if smoke was going to come out of his ears soon. "Get out," he snarled. "_Get out!"_

"And what?" she asked inquisitively.

"Talk to the press to your heart's content!" Fudge shouted, unhinged. "Do whatever you want to do! By the time I am through with you, the Wizarding World will _despise _the name Longbottom, and no one will trust you or your damned husband ever again. Just you wait."

"Very well. I will."

Alice spun on her heel and strode out, noticing the panicked look on Umbridge's face out of the corner of her eye.

-----------

"There's something I need to show you," Remus said as they entered the headmaster's office. "By rights, I ought to show it to everyone at once, but James is at home and Peter is meeting with the French ambassador one last time. So that leaves you."

"I'm honored." Sirius wiggled his eyebrows playfully.

Remus, however, shot him a serious look and continued. "Besides, it concerns you, too."

"Oh." Arguing with that look was like trying to out-riddle a sphinx: stupid. So Sirius shut up and accepted the folded parchment that Remus offered. He ran his fingers over the edges for a moment before opening it. "Nice paper."

Remus did not reply. Sirius really did not expect him to, and did not bother to look up. Instead, he read the note, written in a now familiar and formal script. The few lines made his breath catch, so he read it again. And again. But it was the last sentence that made him blink.

"_Besides, I am gratified to know that one such as yourself stands by Sirius' side."_

Sirius swallowed hard, did some soul-searching. He had spent the last several months learning about Voldemort, getting inside his history, his motives, his sources of power. Why had it never occurred to him that Voldemort was doing the same? That the mirror worked both ways?

_He's begun to understand, _Sirius realized. _For years he asked a question he could not answer…but he's coming closer, now. He has started to see._

Sirius shivered and handed the letter back. "What do you think?" he asked quietly.

"That I wish I hadn't drawn his attention so thoroughly," Remus replied immediately.

"Don't I know the feeling."

Remus nodded. "Seriously, though…it frightens me. More the reference to you than anything else."

"_I will not insult your intelligence or your loyalty to your friends by asking you to join me." _

"Not me." Sirius shook his head. "I'd rather he talk about me—and pay attention to me—all the time. What worries me is that he's _noticed _you, Remus. And drawing his respect is dangerous. He's now marked you as an enemy."

"And he hadn't before?"

"I don't think so," he replied thoughtfully. "Or maybe not so much. You've resisted him in several ways now, Remus, and _that _is something Voldemort finds worthy of respect. He's not so much concerned about power as he is about resistance. He knows that he's more powerful than you and I both—than any of us. The only thing that worries him is resistance, because as long as we keep fighting back, he can't win."

Remus arched an eyebrow. "I hadn't thought of it that way."

"Me neither," Sirius admitted with a smile. "Doesn't make that less true, though."

"Yeah." Remus took the letter back, sliding it into a hidden drawer in his desk. "Still, there is a bright side."

"You always say that, Moony. You and your silver linings."

Remus chuckled. "I wouldn't always call it _silver_, but I can't help being an optimist."

"That used to be my line."

"Oops."

"All right, I give. Tell me the bright side," Sirius replied, unable to tolerate looking at Remus' innocent face any longer. It was always good to know that some things never changed.

"You remember that list you mentioned, Sirius? The one about Voldemort's All Time Must Die Top 100?"

"Yes…"

"Well, I think I just got on it."

-----------

They found him around mid-morning, battered and bleeding. Most were surprised that they had not found him dead, but from that first moment, the message was clear.

Muggles had been the first on the scene, and the healers of St. Mungo's had a terrible time wrestling the half-comatose Peter Pettigrew away from their "caring" hands. Just after noon, a half-score of Obliviators had to be called in (on whose authority, no one seemed to know) to rectify the situation, and even that left a sour taste in everyone's mouth. Regardless, the Muggles' intervention was old news by the time reporters arrived outside of St. Mungo's. Instead, they had something much larger to report, and as usual, it surrounded the "Marauders" (a title long ago leaked to the press, but one they were only now beginning to understand).

James Potter, Sirius Black, and Remus Lupin walked through the front doors to St. Mungo's side by side. James Potter _walked._

They were too dumbfounded to even ask.

"I broke my wand," was the first thing Peter said when the three of them walked into the room together. All three snorted—it was so like Peter to put a lighter spin on such a wretched situation.

"And the rest of you, mate," James pointed out critically, seating himself on the edge of the bed.

Peter's blue eyes opened wide. "You're walking."

"Actually, Wormtail, he's sitting right now," Sirius couldn't resist pointing out.

"Ass." The smaller man scowled.

"Yup."

"Enough. Tell us what happened, Peter," Remus interjected, looking worried.

The bedridden Marauder shrugged slightly. "Not so much to tell. Malfoy and a few others decided that they had to remind me of something. That's all."

"Remind you of what?" James demanded.

"Just that V-Voldemort doesn't forget." Peter's voice was almost perfectly level, and Sirius smiled at him as he plopped into the chair to his left. "Nothing new, there."

"How many others?" James pressed.

"Three."

"And what happened?"

"It's not a big deal, James," Peter replied. "I'm alive."

"Not a big—!"

"James," Remus cut him off calmly. "Let Peter tell the story in his own time."

"Sorry," James replied sheepishly. "I just feel so…_useless_ sometimes. I can't even protect my friends."

"Protect us from what?" Surprisingly, the question came from Peter. "Our own choices? Prongs, I decided to turn against Voldemort a year ago, and I haven't regretted it once. I don't now—not even after last night." He coughed once, but continued in a quiet voice. "My only regret is not doing so sooner, and for lying to you for so long."

"That's long past, Peter," Sirius said for them all, speaking softly. "We do understand, you know."

Peter snorted. "I know you shouldn't, but…"

"But we'll beat you up worse than Malfoy did if you don't drop the subject and accept it," Sirius supplied. "That _is_ what you were going to say, right?"

"Sure." Peter's wan smile made the effort worth it. But then his eyes cut to James. "Anyway, they cursed me for awhile and left. That's really it."

"Are you okay?" James asked softly.

"Yeah. I think so, anyway. It wasn't as…bad as it used to be, y'know? I used to be terrified, but this time it was my choices, and that made it easier. I think."

James reached out to clasp Peter's arm. "You've come a long way, Peter."

"I know." Momentarily, Peter grinned. "I actually distracted myself by thinking that. I think Malfoy noticed."

"We're just glad you're all right," Remus added.

"Me, too," Peter admitted. "Though I wasn't as frightened as I should have been. Is that strange?"

"Not really," Sirius replied for the others. They'd all been there. "After awhile, there comes a point where fear vanishes and courage remains. Being there is different…but it's not unusual."

Peter's eyes glistened slightly as Sirius held his gaze. "I think I finally understand," he said softly. "A lot of things."

"I wish you didn't, Pete."

Peter shrugged again. "There was a message, too," he added. "For you."

"Oh?" _Not again. _He had to struggle to keep his voice casual, and noticed the look Remus and James exchanged. Remus' eyes narrowed slightly, but Sirius kept his focus on Peter.

"I wasn't going to tell you, but…" The smaller man trailed off, sighing. _But now you understand. You've been there, Wormtail, and you know that there are unpleasant things that still have to be done. _"Anyway. Right before I passed out the last time, Malfoy said to tell 'my friend' that that was the price to be paid."

"And you think he meant me?" He tried to keep his tone light, but it didn't really work.

"Who else?"

"True." Now it was Sirius' turn to shrug. "Still, it's not exactly a surprise. He's trying to up the ante. I guess I've been too quiet."

"Too quiet?" James echoed. "What do you call the assault on Hogwarts?"

"Too subtle."

"Sirius—"

Remus cut James off. "I think he's right, actually. I think Voldemort is bored."

"_I was bored. Aren't you?"_

"_Not in the way you mean, no," he replied, struggling to keep his voice level. What was it about this man that could so get under his skin?_

"_Not now, of course."_ _Grindelwald smiled. "But had the world been different—had there been no war, no Tom Riddle—can you truly tell me that you would not have been so bored?"_

_Sirius sighed. "Maybe. But I wouldn't have done what you did."_

"_Of course not!" the older wizard chuckled. "You'd have found your own methods, probably starting with more and more dangerous 'pranks' as time went on. Perhaps your friends would have even been with you._

"_For awhile."_

"Isn't that a good thing?" Peter asked.

"Not if he keeps finding ways to amuse himself, it isn't," James replied darkly. "Things like attacking innocent people or destroying Muggleborns, or any of his other old standbys."

"He won't," Sirius breathed. "He's not bored like that. Voldemort never _stopped _those types of attacks. But Remus is right, and there's nothing more dangerous than a bored Dark Lord."

_You ought to know_, a voice that sounded suspiciously like Grindelwald's pointed out, and Sirius swatted it aside as Remus withdrew the letter from his pocket.

"There's something else, too…" he started to tell the others.

-----------

The early edition's headlines were groundbreaking, though none of the Marauders noticed until they were almost ready to leave. They were too busy spending what little time they could together, finally managing to put worries aside. For just a few hours, they would be those four boys—not the men who had come to carry the world on their shoulders.

"I was thinking about a painting," Remus said after a while. "Of the four of us."

"What for?" James asked. "We've got thousands of pictures."

Peter snickered. "Some more suited for public release than others."

They all chuckled, sharing memories of times long past and pranks too good to forget. Remus, however, returned to his point.

"I was thinking that we could hang it at Hogwarts. There's a big empty place in the Great Hall that would be a perfect spot for the Marauders to watch over generations of Hogwarts pranksters…"

"And encourage them," James finished, grinning.

"Copiously," Sirius added, wagging his eyebrows at the cute healer who was checking on Peter's condition. She blushed and left, leaving the Marauders laughing again.

"Do you ever stop?" Peter demanded.

"Nope. Never."

Remus snorted. "And there you were last night, waxing poetic about Julia—"

"So? I can look, can't I?"

"Is that what you called it when you and Claire Brumby were caught in the Prefect's bathroom?" Peter retorted.

"Well, I was definitely looking at _something,_" Sirius replied with a grin. "Besides, he let me in."

"I so did not," James defended himself. "I blame Lily."

"Only because you and she were snogging on the other side." Remus rolled his eyes. Soon, they were laughing again.

However, the moment had to end, and the Early Edition of the _Prophet _arrived right as Peter filled out the last lines on the release papers.

-----------

_February 9th, 1993_

_Early Edition_

**THE FINAL BLOW**

_by_ Keith Lindsay, _Special Correspondent_

MINISTRY OF MAGIC: Amongst growls from the Aurors,

Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge has removed Alice

Longbottom from her position as Head of Magical Law

Enforcement and Chief of the Aurors.

Alice Hoppner Longbottom had been an Auror since mid-1976, a

former student of the legendary Mad-Eye Moody. She ascended

to her former post after the resignation of Sirius Black amid a

storm of public protest. Her removal, barely two weeks after

Black's departure, makes one wonder how badly relations

between the MOM and Wizarding Britain's first line of defense

have deteriorated.

Minister Fudge defends his decision by saying: "Madam

Longbottom's disastrous handling of the Aurors is clearly an

issue here. Furthermore, her reckless and unauthorized assault

on Azkaban Island was directly responsible for the deaths of four

Aurors and the capture of another. Our world can scarcely afford

such loses in these troubled times, and I felt it best to remove

her before more harm can be done."

Furthermore, Fudge appears concerned over Longbottom's

allegiance and her association with former Auror Sirius Black.

"We all know that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named courts

pureblooded witches and wizards most strenuously. Because of

this, and _other factors, _I do not trust Madam Longbottom's

loyalties any longer."

When pressed to say more, the Minister refused. However, the

long-silent Aurors are obviously unhappy with the decision.

"Alice has done nothing but dedicate herself to victory," Kingsley

Shacklebolt, former Auror and current Hogwarts professor says

angrily. "Every decision she has made has been backed by the

Aurors, and her removal is obviously nothing more than a

political plow to discredit Fudge's opponents."

No active Aurors were available for comment (threats,

perhaps?), but Alice Longbottom consented to be interviewed.

"I'm not going to discuss who is right versus who is wrong in this

situation," she says. "Because if there's anyone who can't see

Fudge panicking, they've got to be blind. The Azkaban Attack

was ordered by Fudge over my objections, and if he wants to

blame me for that, so be it. I did my job.

"However, there are some things that the public deserves to

know. First of all, I am very concerned that there is a leak in

Fudge's inner circle, because the Aurors' assault on Azkaban

was very clearly revealed to the Death Eaters long before our

arrival. Secondly, an envoy from Voldemort arrived during that

raid to offer secret peace terms to Fudge—peace terms which

include turning over Sirius Black to Voldemort in exchange for

Fudge maintaining power."

Longbottom's eyes are angry and show none of the guilt Fudge

proclaims she should. She finishes: "If that's not treason in its

highest form, I do not know what is.

"Unless it's the fact that he still hasn't held elections."

Longbottom raises valid questions that we all must worry about.

When _will _Fudge hold elections? Are we doomed to keep his

"temporary" office intact forever? Most importantly, though, this

reporter must begin to wonder: who _is_ Fudge working for?

Fudge's replacement for Alice Longbottom is former Auror

Marcus Dimwiddle, removed from the Auror Division in 1981 for

bad conduct.

-----------

"There's about a hundred of them out there, Prongs," Sirius warned him, peeking around the corner.

James just shot him a lopsided smile. "If I was scared of the press, Padfoot, I wouldn't be here."

"Just warning you."

James twisted around to glance at the others. The borrowed copy of the _Prophet _was still in his hand, and he was somehow comforted by its presence—that, and of the reporters outside. He'd never _wanted _political power, but his drive to make things right had landed him in a job that he had never expected…and now felt obligated to take on again. _Before Fudge ruins everything, anyway._ _If it's not already too late._ He sighed.

"Ready?"

They'd walk out together. Things were always easier that way, and if they could send that message to the press, they could send it to Voldemort, too. Just in case he hadn't caught on, though even James had to think he was starting to. Otherwise, those two messages were just a bit too coincidental.

"Let's go," Peter replied for the other three, and James led the way outside. It felt good to walk again, to _move_—he felt like running around, like dancing, like leaping as high as he could. James had already tested his transformation into Prongs (at the other Marauders' insistence), and he now ached to run. But there'd be time for that later. For now—

"Mister Potter! Mister Potter!"

Just for once, he wished they'd pay attention to Sirius. _Save it, Prongsie. You walked out the door, and now you've got it. Who ever said there was no such thing as second chances?_ A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. Lily had been right, as usual.

"What do you have to say about the rumors that there is a traitor in—"

"—your legs are healed again. Who was responsible?"

"Have you heard that Alice Longbottom—"

"Deputy Minister Umbridge—"

"—peace terms?"

Taking a deep breath, James waved the crowd into silence. They responded to him far quicker than they used to.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I am no longer an official representative of the Ministry of Magic," he began. "However, if you would like to ask me questions, I will be happy to give my opinion as a private citizen."

A few of the reporters chuckled appreciatively, understanding _exactly _what James was saying. _And if Fudge thought I was too honorable to come out against him when things have gone so wrong, he's more stupid than I thought. He really shouldn't have given me this opportunity—_

"Mister Potter!" A very familiar blond head bobbed up and down as she waved for his attention, and James smiled his most charming smile in response.

"Yes, Ms. Skeeter?"

"What do you have to say about the Minister's stance on Alice Longbottom?" The _Daily Prophet's _most famous reporter asked briskly. "Don't you agree that she _must _be in the employ of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?"

"Not at all," James answered pleasantly, surprised how easy keeping his voice level was. "In fact, if Minister Fudge thinks Alice Longbottom would ever betray us to Voldemort, he's obviously a core short of a wand.

"Alice Longbottom is an old friend and an even older colleague of mine," he reminded the growing crowd—not all of which, he noticed, were reporters. "She is one of the most dedicated professionals and one of the very _best _Aurors I have ever known. I believe in her. And I believe _her_. If she says something is amiss within the Ministry, there are some serious problems."

"But what about her accusations of a traitor within the Ministry?" another shouted.

"It wouldn't be the first time," James said grimly. "Nor, I'm afraid, the last. I used to be an Auror, ladies and gentlemen. Alice is right. The Azkaban Assault was betrayed."

"Couldn't it have been by an Auror?"

"Yes. It could have. But is it realistic to blame the men and women who are fighting and _dying _to protect our families? Is it right to put that weight on their shoulders, to expect them to do everything right? Of course it is not. We all know that, and we all respect the bravery and dedication shown by everyone who has fought in the war, Aurors and others.

"Respect and honor. And trust. Just a few weeks ago, I spoke of honor and trust. I spoke of fighting and winning a war—something I still believe is possible. If we do not hesitate. If we stop blaming those who do not need to be blamed.

"And most importantly, if we stand together."

James took a deep breath, and then took the plunge.

"I will not tell you what to do. I will only tell you what _I _intend to do: I will fight. I am lucky enough to be standing next to three other men whom I would gladly die beside—who I trust to watch my back as I will watch theirs. Men who understand loss and pain. Who understand that risks must be taken if victory is to be won.

"So now you know what I will do." James paused, scanning the crowd with his eyes. "The question becomes what _you _will do. Will you demand change? Will you demand that we fight and _win_?"

Reporters—and bystanders—stirred, but James did not give the response a chance to grow. "Don't answer now. Just think—and remember—that we don't have to go down this road.

"Not if we fight back."

------------

The Other Author's Note: Again, a giant delay, but deployment makes writing and posting hard—ironically enough, it's harder to get a chapter up through the slow internet connection than it is to write it. But here's the newest, and I hope you enjoy! Stay tuned for PD23: Light of Tomorrow.


	24. Chapter 23: Light of Tomorrow

**Chapter Twenty-Three: Light of Tomorrow**

"Booo!"

"Get out of—"

"Go to Feng Du, Fudge!"

"Ladies and gent—" he was immediately drowned out by another bout of hissing and booing. Frantically, the little minister waved his arms, but he was ignored again, looking pale and pathetic behind the podium. "Please—"

"Get out!"

"Go home, traitor!"

"We don't want you any more!"

"Minister of Nothing!"

_Bang. Bang._ Fudge finally broke down and slammed the gavel into the podium. He squeaked: "Ladies and gentlemen, _please!_ Let me speak."

The crowd growled, looking rebellious. Fudge shifted nervously, staring at the sea of a thousand-plus faces with wide eyes. No one had expected so many to turn up for a simple speech, even the four wizards who stood quietly off to one side, pretending that hopeful glances did not so often turn their way.

"Spit it out!" someone finally shouted, making Sirius snort with silent laughter. Fudge looked so uncomfortable.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he repeated in a shaky voice that no amount of political skill could sweeten. "I must strenuously protest the treatment I and my—"

"Is it true that the French Président refuses to deal with anyone other than James Potter?" Charles Li shouted.

"I—I refuse to comment on that." But Fudge's panicked expression gave the truth away. Instead, he snapped: "The inner workings of the Ministry are none of your concern."

"What about the rumor that the Aurors refuse to follow Dimwiddle?" another reporter interjected.

"Why, that's absolutely preposterous, Doris." Fudge managed to smile crookedly. "The Aurors are the most faithful supporters of the _rightful _government. In fact…"

This time, Sirius laughed out loud. He did not bother to listen to the rest. Doing so simply wouldn't be worth the brain cells Fudge's prattling would kill. Instead, he exchanged an amused look with Remus as Peter and James spoke quietly, obviously listening to what Little Fool had to say. Then again, those two were the politicians of the Marauders—Remus was just a teacher, and Sirius was…well, a bit of everything different. At the moment, he was the hatchet man. Next week he might be the glue.

Sudden booing made his attention refocus on Fudge. The Minister was trying to shout over the crowd again, waving his arms in a desperate bid for attention. But the crowd was having none of that—the "normal" audience was howling loud enough to make Sirius' head hurt. At first, he couldn't make out a word of what they were trying to say, but after a few moments the words solidified into a chant:

"Down with Fudge!"

"Down with Fudge!"

"_Down with Fudge!"_

The volume just kept growing. The Marauders stared in shock, and Sirius, Remus and Peter twisted to look at James as one. His hazel eyes were round with wonder. Peter got in first, whispering:

"This could be…"

Sirius just reached out and squeezed James' shoulder as Peter trailed off. "Hold your breath, Prongs."

"DOWN WITH FUDGE!"

"DOWN WITH FUDGE!"

"_DOWN WITH FUDGE!"_

-------------

"How do you feel, Lee?" Hermione asked quietly.

They were in the Hospital Wing again, surrounding Lee one more time. The other boy looked uneasy, and couldn't seem to bear meeting Harry's eyes. He avoided Ginny, too; she just stood off to the side and let him, quietly avoiding everyone's gaze. The moment was awkward.

"Better," he replied hesitantly. "Ready to get out of here."

"I hear Professor Tonks is going to be tutoring you," Hermione said brightly, trying to fill the gap that no one else was willing to breach. Everyone felt so strange.

"Yeah." His voice was a little dull, and she shot a reproving look at Fred and George. _They _knew him better, and they'd darned well better open their mouths and _do _something for poor Lee. Wasn't this bad enough already?

"We'll get you caught up in no time, mate," George put in obligingly.

"Besides," Fred chimed in, not quite sounding forced, "we can teach you all kinds of things that Professor Tonks never thought of!"

Everyone laughed uneasily, but Hermione supposed that was better than nothing. The gaps and the fears would take a long time to heal, but they would. Someday.

"It'll be good to have you back," Harry finally said, a ghost of a smile on his face. "Somebody has to keep these two from getting so many detentions in class. It's hard to pull pranks when they're busy scrubbing the walls for Filch."

"So you say," Fred interjected naturally.

"So he's right," Ron shot back.

"Pfft. What do second years know?"

Ginny snorted. "More than you, it appears. At least Harry, Ron, and Hermione don't get caught."

"And what about you, little sister?" George demanded. "Are you so skilled?"

"Me? The professors still think I'm the _good _Weasley," she giggled. "The angelic one."

"You? _Angelic?_"

She smiled sweetly. "I've never had a detention."

Which was far better than Hermione could say. For a moment, she pictured what her parents' faces must have looked like when they received that first detention notice, and pain welled up inside her. _No. Don't think of that. Not any more._

Hermione swallowed hard, but no one seemed to notice her suddenly bleak expression. She banished it quickly, however, and went on with her life. _Remember the good, _she reminded herself. _There is still happiness, and life does move on. I'm not the only one who has lost family, and I don't help anyone by feeling sorry for myself._ She smiled as Fred pointed out:

"That's hardly a mark of honor in this company, Ginny!"

"It is when you don't get caught."

"You've been caught," Harry protested. "Remember that time when—"

"When Professor Sprout thought I was a victim of the notorious Misfits, yanked into your deceiving web and fooled by my own innocence?" Ginny cut in.

They laughed, and Lee finally smiled. Really smiled.

"I've got an idea…" he started softly.

-------------

_February 12th, 1993_

MINISTRY SPY REVEALED!

_by_ Keith Lindsay, _Special Correspondent_

MINISTRY OF MAGIC: For over a month, a top secret

investigation has been taking place within the hallowed walls of

the Ministry of Magic itself—the desperate search for the spy all

know lurks within the midst of our leaders.

Many expected a full-blown Death Eater. They looked for a

second Severus Snape, slithering and lurking through the top

levels of the Ministry and waiting for the perfect opportunity to

stab someone in the back. Ministry employees have been living

on edge since the loss of Hogwarts, waiting for one of their

own to turn out to be—irrevocably—one of He-Who-Must-Not-

Be-Named's most loyal followers.

They were wrong.

Abner Bode, head of the Ministry's Department of Mysteries and

the Chief Unspeakable, was chief of the investigation. "We

never expected to find a Lucius Malfoy in our midst," he states.

"But we knew that the Death Eaters had a firm and highly placed

conduit of information."

Interestingly enough, the Unspeakables' investigation runs back

to James Potter's tenure at the Ministry, and Bode maintains that

Minister Fudge had no part in identifying the traitor. Another

Unspeakable, who wishes to remain anonymous, bluntly

explains why:

"Fudge would have done nothing other than taint the process.

He can't keep his mouth shut, and he can't keep a secret. If we

had told him who we suspected, our case would have been torn

apart."

Bode, apparently, did not even bother to notify his legal superior

before going public with this information. According to him, he

was worried that Fudge would suppress the information.

And the answer? Deputy Minister of Magic Dolores Umbridge

has been a Death Eater collaborator since before Albus

Dumbledore's death. An undercover Unspeakable witnessed

her passing information to none other than Severus Snape, the

man often known as the greatest traitor in recent history.

Official sources at the Ministry refuse to comment on when—or

if—Ms. Umbridge will be tried.

"She's guilty as hell," Bode says flatly. "Guilty of at least four or

five different crimes, including the recent attack on Peter

Pettigrew and betrayal of the failed Azkaban Assault."

-------------

Fudge fled.

There was no other word for what he'd done—the Minister had simply up and disappeared. The day after his failed press conference, Fudge was _gone_. Repeated fire calls to his home had gone unanswered, and when ranking Minster Nathaniel Adams finally authorized Aurors to enter his home, nothing was found. Nothing at all.

The remaining Ministers banded together, took one look at the chanting crowd outside the Ministry, and did the only thing they knew to do. They listened to the crowd.

-------------

"James?" Lily called. "You'd better take this call."

"I'm busy!" he shouted down the stairs.

"Not busy enough," she replied flatly. "It's Adams."

James sighed, threw the others a look, and trundled down the stairs. He heard their footsteps follow him curiously, but he hardly noticed. He'd been too busy distracting himself, trying too hard not to think about the past several days. Had it only been seventy-two hours since he _walked_ out of St. Mungo's, ending up making a political statement instead of just visiting Peter like he'd wanted to? Had it only been yesterday when crowds had started rioting outside the Ministry and refused to stop? James knew what had to be done. He was just surprised how simple doing so could be.

Moments later, he was staring Nathaniel Adams, Minister for Magical Games and Sports, in the eye.

"Yes?"

-------------

Less than an hour later, he Apparated to the far side of the crowd and started walking. They did not notice him at first; the riot continued, though this time with words he hadn't heard before—

"_BRING BACK POTTER!"_

"_BRING BACK POTTER!"_

"_BRING BACK POTTER!"_

"_BRING BACK POTTER!"_

Immediately, James regretted not having used the Ministry's Apparation Points. His ego usually wasn't so large that he needed to hear people cheer (he had grown up since Hogwarts, after all), but this time he'd felt that showing off was _necessary_—not so much for him as for those who had called him back. The crowd was clearly behind his recall; only a fool would think that Adams was responsible, and a fool James was not.

But now he wished he'd gone in quietly. Damn it if his instincts hadn't been _wrong_. People could see him later. He still didn't know for sure what was going to happen.

Heads started to swivel as James threaded his way through the crowd. Right or wrong, walking felt wonderful, and James was beginning to reacquire a bit of his old agility. Thankfully, magic had kept his muscles from atrophying, though his balance was still a bit off. Despite that, he managed to slip about halfway to the doors before the cheering started.

The noise washed over him like a tidal wave; for a moment, James felt as if it would throw him off of his feet. The crowd simply _exploded_, and hands reached out from everywhere to touch him, to pat him on the shoulder, to pump his hand. They were shouting congratulations, condolences, commiserations, and so many words that he could never hope to understand—James blinked hard, realizing that he'd stopped cold to stare at the outpouring of…of what?

Relief. Happiness. Determination.

More than one voice had shouted that they were with him; a short and blonde-haired witch right in front of him was saying the same thing. Shocked, all James could do was mutter "Thank you," force his feet to start moving again, and head back towards the job he'd once been so terrified of taking.

"Go get 'em, Potter!" someone shouted as James finally stepped through the entranceway, and he had to turn back to them, grinning. One wave and then he was gone.

-------------

"This is the last time I'll come here," Sirius said quietly, leaning on the doorframe again.

Grindelwald chuckled. "Have nothing more to learn from me, do you?"

"Hardy," Sirius snorted. "But if I don't stop now, I never will."

"And that frightens you."

"Of course it does. I'm still fighting against what you say I have become," he admitted without hesitation. A year ago, Sirius would have never said those words, would have been too proud to confess fear of _anything_. But he had learned a lot about fear since his escape from Azkaban, lessons he had thought would never need to be learned.

"You'll lose, of course," the other replied serenely.

"Maybe. Maybe not." Sirius shrugged. "But that's hardly your concern, is it?"

"Of course it is!" Grindelwald looked a little exasperated, tired of repeating himself. "Why do you think I have taught you, Sirius? The game must go on."

"Or die forever," he replied quietly.

Grindelwald shook his head, twirling a wand Sirius could not recognize between his fingers. "The greater game does not die. I thought you understood that."

"I'm stubborn, remember?"

The old wizard chuckled. "Yes, I do."

-------------

"Sorry I'm late," Ted Tonks said as he rushed into the Unicorn Group's newest meeting place. It was a small house on a Muggle hilltop that belonged to one of Tonks' many Muggle cousins, used only as a summer home, otherwise deserted and more than a little dusty. "I had to take a late afternoon detention for Sprout."

Molly Weasley heaved a long-suffering sigh. "What did they do this time?"

"Believe it or not, it wasn't your boys this time," Ted laughed. "Just a few Ravenclaws who'd grown over-enthusiastic in Herbology. Nothing serious."

"Oh." Molly smiled faintly. She hadn't attended meetings of the Unicorn Group in some time—family matters and then the death of Percy had kept her away—but Lily was glad to have her back. Despite her reputation as a homemaker, Molly was a sharp-minded witch, likely to poke holes in theories and find ways to do the impossible.

"Believe it or not, Molly, the twins aren't the worst of the bunch," Auriga pointed out. "At least they're funny."

Lily jumped in before the conversation could continue, catching the matching look on Julia's face as she did so. Julia tended to be the most sensitive of them to bringing up such subjects—Lily supposed that she felt guilty when they did so, being the sister of a Death Eater. Jack Pieters often acted the same way, especially after his sister Amanda had started openly serving Voldemort. It had, in fact, been damn near impossible to get Jack to even come to this meeting. He had determined that no one trusted him because of his sister's change of allegiance, and Lily had spent hours talking him into coming.

Now she just hoped that it would be worth it.

"All right," she started, clearing her throat. "Two projects for today. First, the finishing touches on Operation Clean Air. We've been testing and tweaking the Safe Return Spell for weeks now—it's high time we finalized it and moved forward."

"But we haven't tested it," Sinistra pointed out. "I'm no warrior, but I wouldn't want to go into battle against Dementors and use an untried spell."

"Nor would I," Lily replied with a slight sigh. "But unless you've got a Dementor in your pocket…?"

The others chuckled wearily until Julia spoke up. "As someone who has had a…bit of exposure to Dementors, frankly, I'd be willing to try anything in their presence. After all, what's the worst that can happen? Nothing?"

"She's got a point, Auriga." Ted shrugged. "Worst case, we fall back to the Patronus Charm. No harm done."

"Except several years of work down the drain," Jack added dryly.

"And the fact that it's not _us _I'm worried about," Sinistra said. "We're not on the sharp edge—if this spell fails, it's likely the Aurors who will pay the price, and they've lost enough already."

"That they have," Molly half-whispered, and everyone nodded. Lily swallowed, waiting a moment before speaking again. Everyone had to let the sadness pass first.

"Does anyone think we can improve the spell by waiting?" she asked pointedly, glancing around the room as heads shook. Auriga finally shrugged.

"If wishes were broomsticks…"

"Yeah," Jack breathed. "There's always that."

Lily nodded decisively. "Then we call Clean Air a success and move forward. The Dark Mark is next. Let's get to work."

-------------

In comparison to its Muggle equivalent, the Ministry of Magic had a fairly good record where stability was concerned. Although the government changed hands, change usually happened in scheduled elections, even in dire times. Voting was easy, after all—all a witch or wizard had to do was return the owl to the appropriate place on Election Day; the Ministry was always organized, and sent them out on schedule. Many reporters joked that the voting process was the only part of the Ministry that actually worked as designed, and they kept waiting for the system to break down.

Cornelius Fudge, of course, had found the only loophole. He'd not even bothered with elections, simply declaring that the State of Emergency (always capitalized in Fudge's case) negated the need for elections. So he'd clung to power for as long as he could, despite the laws that demanded new elections immediately following a Vote of No Confidence.

James had been too shocked, too wasted, to argue that point then. But now he was ready to demand elections and damn the consequences. He knew that he'd win, after all. All he had to do was run.

In the end, even Malfoy did not bother to run against him—Lucius' ego had been battered enough by Severus Snape's recent rise in the Dark Lord's service. As a matter of fact, no one bothered, and the write-in option on almost every ballot was left blank.

A few crackpots voted for the dead, of course (it happened every year). A few more foolhardy put Sirius Black's name down, and quite a few wrote in witches or wizards that everyone knew were dead, such as Albus Dumbledore, Glenda the Good, Dietfried Grindelwald, Willy Wonka, and Morgan Le Fay. But the overwhelming majority had decided to forgo jokes, disasters, and emergency powers. They wanted James Potter back.

On February 14, 1992 the votes were counted. By the time dinner rolled around, everyone knew the result. By eight p.m., James Potter was once again on the Wizarding Wireless Network.

"I have no pretty words to say tonight," he started bluntly. "You all know why I am here. You all know what I stand for. So I will only tell you what I am going to _do_:

"My selections of Ministers are as follows:

"Arthur Weasley, Deputy Minister of Magic.

"Peter Pettigrew, International Magical Cooperation.

"Lesley Dummingston, Magical Accidents and Catastrophes.

"Abner Bode, Department of Mysteries.

"Grace Canning, Magical Games and Sports.

"Leigh-Anne Stover, Magical Transportation.

"Amos Diggory, Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures."

James took a deep breath, so thankful for the next words he was able to say. Never would he admit how hard it had been to put this team together, how hard the older ministers, Fudge's allies, had fought to keep their jobs and their slices of the political power pie. But he'd been determined to start with a clean slate, to put those in office who were willing to fight—James had learned the hard way that compromise with his opponents was not the way to go, and he'd rather fight the battles now than fight them later.

Later, after all, might never come if they could not act decisively _now._ He had learned that, too. James had no desire to repeat that lesson. Ever.

"And finally, Sirius Black, Magical Law Enforcement."

He knew that the Wizarding World sighed in relief with those words—not because Sirius was such an able administrator (because truth be told, he wasn't), but because Sirius was _Sirius._ He was the one man who had stood up to Voldemort when face-to-face with the monster, and had done so more than once. He was a symbol now, their shining star in the sky. Equally important, Sirius _was _a good leader—otherwise, James would never have brought him in to head the DMLE in the first place. Alice Longbottom was probably better at the minutiae of the job than Sirius would ever be, but she was back too, as Sirius' deputy.

The pieces were finally falling back into place.

James continued:

"Tonight we start over again. Yes, we have been beaten, but we are far from down—and if Voldemort thinks we are, he is sorely mistaken. This war is far from over, and we are far from out.

"Let this be a warning to everyone—and let them remember."

-------------

"So you're going back?"

"Of course I am." Sirius smiled, even though he knew the expression was a tad lopsided. "What else would I do?"

"Knowing you?" Julia smiled back, ever so slightly. "Anything."

"You know me too well."

"You'd better believe I do." She laid her head on his shoulder, and Sirius wrapped his arm around her. Spending time together had grown harder and harder since Julia's return—in many ways, she had to hide from Voldemort even more than he did. _Especially after what happened to Peter._ Sirius swallowed. Voldemort feared him, at least a little. But he did not fear Julia.

"So what now?" she finally asked.

"Well, you're going and I'm staying. There's little new in that," he replied, trying to keep the bitterness out of his voice. He mostly succeeded.

Her voice was tiny. "I'm sorry."

"No, don't be." Sirius sighed quietly. "I'm not mad at you. It's not your fault. I just miss you when you're gone."

"At least the trips are for a better reason now," Julia replied. "Something I can feel proud of, instead of a way to hide."

"Something we can both feel proud of," he corrected her, and then swallowed hard. "I don't know what I'd have done if you wanted to stay a Death Eater."

_And I don't like admitting weakness like that, either. But that's what makes me _different _from Voldemort, and even from Grindelwald. I still care._

"Neither do I." She snuggled closer, and Sirius held her tightly, not wanting to let go.

"When do you leave this time?"

"In the morning. I promised Severus that I would visit him first, even though doing so is dangerous." Julia chuckled mirthlessly. "He told me not to, so I have to go."

"I'll never quite understand your friendship with that man."

"You do now more than you used to."

Sirius snorted. "That doesn't count."

"Oh?" she challenged. "Why not?"

"Because I used to be a prick," he responded judiciously.

"And you aren't now?" Julia shot back, and they laughed together. But the moment could not last—he was due at the first meeting of the new Ministry, and she needed sleep before Apparating halfway across Europe. Even though Julia planned to do so in stages, Long Distance Apparation was exhausting. Finally, Sirius had to say what was on his mind.

"I'm going to miss you when you're gone," he said softly.

He could hear her swallow. "I know."

"And when you come back," Sirius added, a bit hesitantly. "Because even when you're here…you're not."

"When the war ends…" Julia trailed off as her voice caught. "We'll still have time."

"What if we don't?"

It was the question neither wanted to ask, neither wanted to consider. Both knew what a miracle it was that they were still alive and still together. Ever since Sirius' return from the dead, they had been super-conscious of every moment together—and doubly aware of every moment apart. Now, however, they were both openly on the same side. They both were taking the same risks.

And their days together might be numbered.

"Then I suppose we have to be thankful for what we've had," Julia finally replied.

"I'm not," Sirius said abruptly. "Not thankful enough. Or maybe I'm just greedy, but I'm sick of playing games. Sick of hiding and sick of saying we _can't_ when we can."

She pulled away to look at him curiously. "What do you mean?"

"I mean—and I'm putting this badly—James and Lily are rebuilding Godric's Hollow. The house should be finished by the time you get back, and this place is going to get awfully lonely." Sirius smiled very crookedly this time. "I mean, will you come here—and stay with me—when you get back?"

Julia frowned slightly; her sharp mind was too quick to add up the risks. "He might—"

"Forget the risks. Just this once," he cut her off. "We might not have much time, and let's use what we've got. Will you come here, for better or for worse?"

"Are you…?" Julia trailed off, her eyes growing wide.

"Let's take it one step at a time," Sirius whispered, squeezing his arm tight around her shoulders again.

A long moment passed before she replied, her smile soft. "All right," Julia said. "I'd like that."

--------------

Author's Note: As usual, it's been quite awhile, but if you've seen the news, you know I've been busy. I'm an officer on board USS Cape St. George (CG 71), the same US Naval Warship that was recently attacked by pirates off of the African coast. So, please do excuse the delay in posting…needless to say, we were doing other things. That said, here is PD23, and please do review! PD24 is being edited right now. Thanks again for reading!


	25. Chapter 24: The Moment Reborn

**

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Four: The Moment Reborn

* * *

**

Right before dawn, she Apparated onto the front walk of Domus Archipater, a place she had been so many times…yet had never really seen. Julia found it odd how one simple decision could change her life—yet might not—and could make her see the world through new eyes. _Or adjusted ones, anyway._ _I wonder what Severus will say._

Julia snorted quietly. _He'll glare, tell me I can do better, and then wish me well. _For a moment, she imagined Sirius' face if Severus ever said those words in his presence, and Julia had to resist the urge to giggle. She loved both of them dearly, but they would never be friends, no matter how similar they were. And in the end, perhaps, even Severus and Sirius would realize that they were not so different, after all.

But that was for later. Departure was for _now_.

Severus opened the door before she even reached it; scowling.

"You shouldn't be here," he said immediately.

"I know, Severus." She smiled just a little, touched by his worry.

Her old friend, however, clearly did not find the situation amusing. His eyes narrowed. "It's dangerous."

"I _know, _Severus," Julia replied, her patience tried to the breaking point. She had hardly slept all night and was facing a day full of Apparation, a prospect that never pleased her, despite all the times she'd done so. Julia _hated _Apparation. It was enormously convenient, but somehow the spell always left her queasy inside. Despite that, she tried to soften her discomfort with another smile.

But Severus persisted doggedly. "You shouldn't have come back in the first place," her old friend insisted. "Merlin, Julia, Lucius told you to run. He bought you time, and it cost him."

"What did they—"

"And then you came back," he cut her off angrily. "Even when you knew you shouldn't, you _stayed_. You of all people should know better. He'll kill you if he finds you."

"What did they do to him?" Julia demanded.

"Nothing." Severus shrugged. "Your departure cost Lucius prestige, influence only—nothing physical, but far more costly than bodily pain, as you are aware. Especially in this game."

"I know." She sighed. "Still, I'm glad that's all. I don't think I'd forgive myself if anything…"

"You're not following my point," he replied when she trailed off. "Lucius made his choices. You made yours. But the Dark Lord is _hunting _you, Julia. He wants to use you to lure Black in."

"I'd kill myself first." And she meant it, always had.

He sighed, almost a groan. "That's not the point."

"May I come in?" she asked plaintively. "Bad choices and all?"

"I suppose." Nodding curtly, Severus stepped aside for her and they walked into Domus Archipater.

-----------

_Cold hands on bare flesh._

"_Do you remember?"_

_He coughed, feeling the phantom of old pain—or was it just his imagination? The burning intensified, sharpened, made him want to scream. And then he did._

"_You see?" Voldemort whispered into his ear. "You only thought I could not touch you."_

Sirius jerked awake as he screamed, still hearing that voice echo in his ears. He realized he was shaking and struggled to stop. Doing so was hard, harder than it had been in months, and he found his right hand clutching ineffectively at his left wrist. Where had his internal barriers gone?

_You do remember._ A voice, no longer in his ear, no longer from memory.

Sirius froze.

_And even now?_

He screamed again, thrashing against the blankets. But Sirius hardly noticed; the world exploded with pain, with white hot nothingness. Oxygen trapped in his chest and burned while screech after screech tore his throat bloody raw.

But within seconds, instinct and training focused on fighting back. Magic roared into him without so much as a word—it was feelings such as this that actually helped him understand why Voldemort was intoxicated by power. The rush was addicting, dizzying, sweet—

And yet…not now. Not yet. Not like this.

Sirius clamped down on instinct. He swallowed back the need to fight and endured—for the moment. Perhaps a minute passed before the pain ceased, leaving him panting and wheezing. He pulled his hand away from his left wrist with an effort, still shaking.

_Waiting, are you?_

He grimaced. _No use in letting all the secrets out now, is there?_

Cool laugher filled his head, almost tinged with amusement. _It would spoil the surprise, wouldn't it?. _Sirius smiled grimly, despite the situation. Odd how he could almost reach out and almost—

He screamed again.

Burning red.

Burning black.

Convulsing.

He did not fight, would not.

Even when his body, his soul, ached for release. Not now. Not yet.

Sirius bit his lip hard. Swallowed the screams. Pain was only pain. He had faced this before.

Swallow. Breathe evenly. Endure.

Relax.

_I will not break._

Breathe in. Breathe out. One step at a time. Voldemort could attack at will—now—but that did not mean he could _win._ What was pain, after all, save a window into the soul?

_I will not fall._

What were a few moments when compared to ten years? He had distanced himself then, had been able to endure anything but _this._ But Sirius had changed. Grown. He _would _be different. Save power for the end. Show strength now. Let Voldemort wonder what the future might hold.

_I made my choice._

Everything he had ever been, everything he could ever become, revolved around his three best friends. And he had made the right choices for the right reasons, no matter what the outcome.

Breathing was easier. The pain remained, but it was _his _pain. _His _choice. Voldemort could neither own nor control him.

_I will stand strong._

Sirius felt the final attack coming before Voldemort struck. Just as his shaking started to slow, just as he regained control, Voldemort pummeled Sirius with all he had to offer. Pain enveloped him, and his arm was on fire—

Sirius refused to scream.

Not this time.

This time, he played the game.

-----------

He hadn't been here since childhood, not since his eleventh birthday, the same day most Wizarding children came. It had been a quiet day, just Peter and his mother, which was a rarity in the Pettigrew home where there were more children (all girls but him) than parents and no time or space for privacy. Peter had enjoyed that day, from shyly choosing his first wand to eating ice cream at Florean Fortescue's. His mother had smiled, then. She'd been beautiful.

But the war had ended more than just his mother's life, more than just Peter's innocence. It had changed Diagon Alley, too. Florean Fortescue's was still only partially rebuilt, growing larger but somehow less dignified than before. Many of the old streets' cobblestones were new, replaced after Sirius and Voldemort had destroyed half of the road between them. Nearly every building sported new paint, new siding, or new signs; the place felt alien. In rebuilding Diagon Alley, the Wizarding world had remade it into someplace different. Ollivander's, however, had hardly changed at all.

Peter opened the door, hesitating only slightly. He wasn't sure that he _should _be there, but the alternative was even less attractive, so he stepped inside barely thirty seconds after "**OPEN"** flashed on the door in big white letters.

-----------

He was in the office by dawn, hard at work and relishing every hateful minute of the job. All of his life, James had known himself as a man of action, never content to sit and wait when something could get done. Now he was acting for better or for worse, and not even twenty-four hours back on the job had proven exactly how much needed doing. Desperately.

Like this call.

James checked the time. One hour to go, and he'd know the answer. Two hours to go before he was (again) on the WWN, making a speech to the world. _When did the whole world become my responsibility?_ But he'd asked for that, really, and sometimes wishes _were _horses—even if they turned out to be fat, ugly, and lame. Still, James supposed it could have been worse. He could have gone at it alone.

Fifty-five minutes before the head appeared in his fire, right at the conclusion of the French Président's morning meeting. He doubted Eugène Legarde would let him down, but James was too far gone from innocence to be sure. So long, so many times, he had trusted—even in what he had thought to be the worst years of the war, cowering in the shadows and trying to protect a son who turned out _not _to be the child of prophecy. But James knew better now, or maybe he was just more experienced. His faith in the world had shattered, not on November 12, 1981, as many supposed, but on January 30, 1992, the day he had found out Sirius still lived. That everything he had known to be true about the war was yet another level of what ifs and possibilities. It wasn't that he couldn't trust or that he hadn't forgiven Peter. James just remembered the past too well.

Forty-five minutes. Just another three quarters of an hour to waste on paperwork and memories.

-----------

By ten o'clock in the morning, he'd been searching for two hours. Every possible wood-core combination had passed through Peter's hands, from beech and unicorn hair to yew and phoenix feather to walnut and dragon's heartstring to everything in between. Even Ollivander's more exotic wands had started emerging in the last few minutes, but nothing worked. Peter was getting frustrated, but the wizened wand maker was grinning.

He was also muttering to himself, a habit Peter found extremely annoying.

"Let's see…not this." _Clink. _"Not this." _Clink_. Wands were flying all over the small shop as Ollivander discarded them carelessly over one shoulder. _Shouldn't a wand maker be more careful with his handiwork?_ "Tried this. Perhaps…"

Peter sighed. His wand hand was dreadfully sore—one ill-fitted phoenix feather wand (eleven inches long and brand-new looking) had zapped his palm something awful. The memory made him grimace—Ollivander had handed that one over with a relish and had seemed extraordinarily disappointed when it hadn't worked. _At all, _Peter thought impatiently. _Throwing rocks would be more effective than using that one!_

"Here." He took the wand out of Ollivander's hand and shook it experimentally.

"Nope."

"This?"

Again. "Not at all."

The old wizard dug around some more; Peter shoved his left hand into a pocket and slouched against the wall. "Ah! Here's what I was looking for!" Ollivander grinned. "Try this one. She's a beauty—twelve inches even and made of polished walnut—at least fifty years old…"

Peter tuned him out, waving the wand. "Hm." A few sparks flashed, but nothing special emerged. "Nope."

Another wand was shoved into his hand. "This one?"

"Nope."

"Ah! A newer—"

"Nope."

A few dozen wands later, even Ollivander was groaning.

-----------

James slumped in his chair, eyes shut and not sure if he should laugh or cry. Or just thank every deity he had ever heard of for the fact that Legarde was an intelligent man. _And that's a lot more than I can say for the bastard who chased him away_, James thought viciously. Finally, he opened his eyes to stare at Arthur Weasley, a relieved grin creasing his face.

"We did it."

Arthur smiled wearily. "Yes, we did."

"About damn time, too," James breathed. "I was starting to worry."

"You've only been back in office a day," his deputy reminded him.

"I know." He shrugged sheepishly. "Still, it _feels _like forever, and there's so much to do and fix after everything Fudge wrecked."

"I'm just grateful that Legarde chose to look past that," Arthur replied. "Without the French this war would be a lot harder to fight. We need all the Aurors we can get…especially after Azkaban."

"No kidding," James muttered darkly, then forced his tone to lighten. "But whoever thought we'd say _that_?"

Arthur chuckled, and James managed to smile again. They were back in the game now, and there was still a chance. A slim chance, but a chance all the same. James nodded to himself. His faith in the world wasn't restored, wasn't unshaken, but sometimes things did go right.

-----------

_Knock, knock._

Had he passed out or been sleeping? Sirius half rose out of bed, blinking groggily. "Eh?"

"Sirius?" Lily's voice.

"Murgh?" He cleared his throat and started again. "Yeah?"

"Can I come in?"

"Yeah. I'm decent enough." Then he glanced down at himself, at his blood-covered left forearm, remembering that for the first time. _Bad idea._ A quick wave of his right hand took care of the bloody mess as the door opened and Sirius quickly surveyed the rest of himself. Not too bad. He was even wearing a shirt.

The Mark still bled slightly, in pinpricks here and there, but not so badly as it had. Sirius elected not to bury his arm under the covers. He'd had enough of hiding for one day. Instead, he hauled himself into a sitting position as Lily stepped into his room.

"How are you doing?" she asked, shutting the door quietly behind herself.

"Well enough." He shrugged. "It's been an interesting morning."

"I heard," she said softly. "James left early enough not to, but…" It was her turn to shrug.

"Thanks for not interrupting."

"I wasn't sure if I should have or not," Lily admitted.

"Wouldn't have mattered if you did," Sirius said honestly. "Sit down?"

"All right." She seemed hesitant, which was odd; Lily never waffled or wavered once a decision was made. She was always a planner, and always knew exactly what was going on.

"What's on your mind?" he asked without preamble.

"Am I that easy to read?"

Sirius smiled slightly. "Usually, no. But right now, you'd best get on with it. We don't have all day."

The light tone didn't come off as jokingly as he'd hoped it would, but she got the point. At the very least, she seemed to appreciate the effort, because a tense glimmer flickered through her eyes in response.

"No, we don't." Suddenly, she was serious. "There's something I need to ask you."

"Ask away."

Lily's face twitched into a hesitant smile. "The Unicorn Group has been working on a lot of projects lately. One of them is a way to remove the Dark Mark."

Immediately, everything made sense. "You…"

"Yes. Irrevocably." She nodded. "And we thought that you ought to be the first to know. To get the chance. Especially considering…" Lily trailed off, more in consideration of Sirius' feelings than her own. Still, he wished that she wouldn't bother. It didn't help.

_The Dementors seemed drawn to the Mark, intoxicated by being able to use something they feared to cause him pain. Now, every time they came to him, at least one focused on his outwardly unmarred left forearm, stroking the skin just like they petted his face, shoving the metal brank deeper into his torn mouth and jaw. The combination of pain and helpless terror was the worst—he was half conscious of now and all conscious of then, and everything _hurt

_Cold fingers on his arm._ _Chains held him down so he could hardly even twitch, and oddly enough, this one Dementor was so very riveted on the Mark that Sirius was almost aware of his surroundings. Rotting nails pressed—_

Burning,

_He cried out in pain as Voldemort laughed. _

"_Don't you see, Sirius?" a whisper in his ear. "You'll never be free of it. Of me. Even these creatures know where you belong._

"_Forever."_

Sirius blinked, trying not to let the urge to grasp his left wrist show on his face. "Thanks," he finally managed to say without sounding too unfocused—not that it fooled Lily, whose eyes saw far too much. "I appreciate your telling me."

"And?" She eyed him perceptively.

"And you know what my answer is," he admitted. _What it has to be_, Sirius didn't say. "Even if James and the others don't understand, I think you do."

She sighed. "You mean the link."

"I do."

"Are you certain?"

"More than almost anything else, yes," he replied without hesitation. Lily just wasn't one you lied to, not about things like this. She had always understood too much.

Her eyes softened. "It hurts you, Sirius."

He smiled wryly.

"So do a lot of things."

-----------

Had Julia left when she should have, or even when Severus had first suggested she do so, she might have been in less trouble. Or at least in a different situation.

"Hello, Lucius," she said quietly, rising to greet her brother.

She'd not seen his face fall so since they were children. "Julia."

_What are you doing here? _he didn't ask. She answered anyway:

"I came to see Severus. Before leaving again."

He grimaced. "Good."

"Lucius, it is my life," Julia pointed out gently, again hearing the words he chose not to say. "My choices."

"And I think you are wrong, but I am not here to discuss that," he snapped. Julia started to reply and then stopped herself, letting him brush her aside. Something was on Lucius' mind—and his eyes were on Severus, who looked supremely…detached.

"It has come to that, has it?" her old friend asked quietly.

"Yes," her brother replied stiffly. "And I would prefer to concede gracefully than to make a scene out of this."

"I agree."

Severus being oddly incommunicative, and Lucius nodded stiffly.

"There you have it, then. I wish you the best."

"I did not hope for this, Lucius," Severus finally replied.

"Nor did I," her brother snapped. "But such things happen. You will do well."

Tight faced, Lucius turned on his heel to leave, angry and offended and—

"Wait." Severus' cool voice stopped him in his tracks, making Julia start. Lucius, always superior and always arrogant, never allowed even Severus to speak to him like that. Yet he had stopped. What wasn't she seeing?

"I would not have this change our friendship," Severus said more gently.

"And I would think that it can do nothing less," Lucius replied archly, his gray eyes narrow.

Severus sighed. "Has he made it official?" he asked after a moment.

"He will do so tonight. You are to take precedence over even his pet Bellatrix."

Julia's eyebrows rose, but she contained her expression quickly. Almost a decade spent amongst Death Eaters made her very aware of the politics and power plays involved—but the one thing that never changed was Lucius' place at the Dark Lord's right hand. He'd held onto that position for so many years through a mixture of guile, charisma, and plain bloodthirsty backstabbing, and no one had ever managed to dislodge him. Yet _Severus_…

"Thank you," Severus replied softly.

Lucius nodded choppily and headed back towards the door; on impulse, Julia chased after him, catching up with his longer strides as Lucius started through the foyer.

"How did it happen?" she asked quietly.

"Does it matter?" he retorted. "I have been eclipsed. Like a good dog I will lie down at my Master's feet and accept my fate."

Julia had not thought he could sound so bitter. But then, this was Lucius Malfoy, insufferably noble, arrogant, and cocksure. His life was defined by his reputation, his influence, and his family, yet in one blow, two of those cornerstones had been weakened. _But who did it? Severus, or the Dark Lord himself? _she wondered. _No. I believe Severus when he says that he did not seek this. And so does Lucius, though he blames him still._ She left out a hesitant breath.

"This could be fortuitous timing, you realize," Julia said softly. "It could give you a chance to distance yourself—"

"Do not say the words, sister. I shall remain faithful to my Lord, and to my beliefs, no matter what road you have chosen."

"And your family?" she demanded with a bit more emotion than she'd intended. "You cannot _help _them this way. He's going to _lose_, Lucius, and what then?"

"I'm afraid I do not share such confidence in your lover, Julia," he replied dryly.

She rolled her eyes. "The world is arraying against him, Sirius notwithstanding. We are approaching a turning point, _brother_, and when we reach that point, do you want to lose everything?"

"I have already told you that I cannot protect you. Leave while you can."

"I'm not talking about myself." Julia looked him in the eye. "I'm talking about Draco and Narcissa. How much would you have them suffer for your choices?"

"They will not suffer," Lucius replied shortly. Certainly.

"How do you know? How can you be sure?"

"Go, Julia. Run while you can or hide with your lover," he said dismissively, ignoring the question. "I cannot help you now."

"That's not my point—"

"But it is mine." Lucius wrenched the door open. "Go. This discussion is over."

And he walked away.

-----------

Eight chairs, seven members.

Remus resisted the urge to stare at _Time_, remembering both the last time the Inner Circle had met with a member missing and the reason _Time _had once stood empty. Now, in a painful twist of truth, _Knowledge_, his own first position, was the vacant seat. Empty, not for the same reasons, but empty all the same. Remus swallowed.

While Sirius was missing, Fawkes had simply refused to reform the Circle; this time, Remus had not even tried. This seventh circle was their Final Circle, he knew—perhaps not _the _Final Circle forever, but certainly the last during this war. Maybe, someday, there might be another, but Remus sometimes doubted that _he _would see an eighth. _Maybe Severus will._

"So," Bill said softly. "Here we are."

To his right, the new Auror Nymphadora Tonks glanced around without surprise. "He's not coming, is he?"

"No," Remus replied regretfully. "Not for a long time."

No one in the room was foolish enough to think that meant Severus might join them _that _day, or perhaps ever again. Some might have even wondered what Remus thought of Snape's loyalties…but none asked. This was not the time or the place, and Hogwarts' headmaster finally nodded. "Let's sit."

They were deep within Hogwarts again, because there was no where else to go. The Room of Requirement had become their only meeting place, and Remus sometimes wondered what would come next. Was the Order so intertwined into his school, or was it the other way around? He knew that theirs' was not the first Order of the Phoenix, but he did not know if it would be the last.

Chairs scraped lightly on the carpet as everyone made themselves comfortable, even James—and it was _good _to see that again. He caught the smile on James' face as his friend thought the same, and Remus tore his mind away from dark thoughts. _Think of the moment. Think of the friends who are here, not those who cannot be._

Lily spoke first, absentmindedly brushing hair back from her left shoulder. "Why are we here?" Of course, she wanted to know why Remus had called this meeting so suddenly and without any warning, but that was a question even he could not answer.

"It was time," Remus replied as honestly as he could. "Time to look at one another and decide the next step we take."

"With all due respect," Bill said quietly, "I don't think that's our choice."

Heads turned; Remus nodded reluctantly. "Sirius?"

"I'll listen to suggestions."

James chuckled softly. "Of course you will. Then you'll go your own way. As usual."

"Probably," Sirius admitted. "But I don't see a lot of planning to be done, at least where my role is concerned. I'm going to kill him or I'm not. It's that simple."

Like the others, Remus shivered, listening to his friend's cool voice and frank words, but his mind focused on something else. Something deeper. _If you think we're letting you go at that one alone, Padfoot, you're sorely mistaken. _He knew that nothing in the world could stop Sirius from doing what he felt he had to do, but Remus would stand beside him, as would James and Peter. Even if it did kill them.

"Unless you plan on calling him out tomorrow, I do think some planning is in order," Lily replied. Her smile was tight. "If that's all right with you."

"Of course." Sirius grinned, but Remus saw the shadow in his blue eyes that made Lily nervous. He was different, still Sirius, but something else, too. _But you've known that for awhile, Remus. Why think of it now?_

"Very well," he interjected when unable to answer his own internal question. "Aside from diplomacy, what options do we have?"

-----------

They stepped through the doors together, no longer having to bring Tonks through as a trainee—yesterday, she and Bill had completed the acceptance ceremony that made her a full Auror. Some of the others had done so as well, though Sirius had missed the bittersweet ceremony. The loss of Dana Lockhart and even Calvin Waters had hit Class 4904 hard, hurting even more than the others lost. They'd been so close, Sirius had heard Tonks whisper to Bill. So damned close.

Well, so had he—many times and to many things. But close only counted with Proximity Spells. Sirius had learned that the hard way.

And the doors did not close on him, so that was another good thing. Avalon still accepted him as an Auror, no matter what magic he chose to use. Sometimes, he wondered why that was so, or how the Isle of Light could allow him to practice some of the dark spells he had used upon her shores. Yet here he was, and here Avalon was…and he felt none of the wary watchfulness he had before. None of the borderline acceptance. He was there, and so was Avalon.

Sirius felt the way he had the first time that the Aurors had returned to their island. Welcome. Adjusted.

Remembered.

The thought almost stopped him, almost made Sirius freeze. He'd hardly slept the night before, and had rested little then because of the nightmares—yet he felt _good._ Better than he had in months, perhaps better than he had since before his time in Azkaban. It was a strange feeling, both heady and frightening all at once. Most of all, though, he felt like himself. Like the boy who had become a Gryffindor at Hogwarts and the man who had become an Auror. Perhaps he was a bit reckless and short tempered, but he was Sirius Black. Always energetic, often erratic, and loyal to a fault.

_I thought I'd lost that along the way, _Sirius thought. _Just thought it…went away._

He shivered.

"Sirius?" Tonks prodded quietly, touching his right elbow.

He started, turned. "Yes?"

"Let's go." As usual, his cousin didn't ask. She was sensitive in those ways.

"Right."

Every footstep on the grass felt different, felt new. Fresh. Refreshed? He started at his feet, at the damn grass beneath them. The island had been caught in a storm center for months, but now there was a sudden calm. Even the clouds were beginning to roll aside—just a little—to let the sun peek through.

"What _are_ you doing here?" an imperious voice snapped, breaking through Sirius' childlike wonder. His head snapped up.

"Dimwiddle." He nodded courteously, but Sirius wasn't even trying to fool himself.

"Black," the other spat. "You are not welcome here. If Cornelius finds—"

"My, you are out of touch," Sirius cut him off with a sweet smile. "Fudge was tossed out of office three days ago. Where have you been?"

Dimwiddle flushed but did not answer. Instead, Sirius did for him, feeling nasty. He was sick of being the civilized and patient hero—time for a little vintage, misbehaving, Sirius Black.

"Drinking again, eh?" He let his face twist into a patronizing sneer. "All those late nights of work getting to you?"

Dimwiddle sputtered. Someone—Sirius thought it might have been Tonks—muffled a laugh.

"You can't speak to me like that!" the older wizard finally managed.

"No?"

"No!"

"All right." Sirius shrugged. "I'll speak to you like this, then: I am here to replace you. James Potter has retaken office as Minister of Magic, and I have been re-designated as the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and of the Aurors. Your presence is no longer required on Avalon."

He was being a bit harsh, but not unexpectedly so; Marcus Dimwiddle _was _a drunkard and an incompetent. He'd been kicked out of the Aurors twelve years ago for conduct unbecoming—the least of which had been being drunk during a failed raid in which three Aurors died. Sirius had been there, and also remembered Alastor Moody's stories of Dimwiddle's early days in the Aurors. No, he wasn't impressed.

"You—"

"Just don't," Sirius cut him off more gently this time. "It's over. Fudge's power play has failed."

He took a deep breath, noting for the first time how fresh the air felt.

"And I've got work to do."

-----------

Author's Note: I'm almost home—just a few more weeks to go and then updates will come much faster. That said,I really do hope you like the chapter. Stay tuned for PD25, and please let me know what you think! I really do appreciate everyone reading…it makes writing and posting worthwhile.


	26. Chapter 25: Heroes and Demons

**Promises Defended

* * *

**

_Chapter Twenty-Five: Heroes and Demons_

* * *

_Minister Potter, _

_Firstly, I must congratulate you on the swift healing of your legs; it is always gratifying to see one as powerful as yourself triumph over evil and malicious attacks. Secondly, I must approve of your recent victory over the former and unlamented Minister Cornelius Fudge. I am pleased to once again have a worthy opponent. _

_In courtesy, I again write to you and offer the following terms. Minister Fudge was seriously considering them before his regrettable fall from grace. _

· _Immediate passage of specific laws, detailed in the attached _

· _A complete census taken of all Muggleborn witches and wizards in Britain _

· _Return of all property seized from myself and my followers _

· _Closing of Britain's borders to foreigners until such a time, to be later determined _

· _The delivery of Sirius Black to myself _

_I had given Minister Fudge's government seven days to decide upon my offer. I extend the same to you. Of course, you will make the right decision. _

_I shall look for your response upon the 23rd. _

_By my own hand: _

_Tom Marvolo Riddle _

_Lord Voldemort _

_of the Second family, Gaunt _

_descended of the Slytherin line _

_at__ Casa Serpente, this 18th day of February, 1993 _

-----------

They found her body sometime after the crows had started their work, stuffed into a dark corner of Knockturn Alley few frequented. She as dressed rather normally for one who had turned traitor; without Death Eater robes or even a mask. Those who found her, however, remembered the recent news stories, and they weren't exactly in a hurry to report what had happened. Still, within a few hours, the smell was bad enough that Umbridge had to go.

And go she did, straight to St. Mungo's Morgue, where the healers pried a wand out of her death-hardened grip.

Strangely enough, the wand wasn't her own—that had been found a dozen feet away, broken and mangled almost beyond recognition. She held the wand backwards, too, gripping the mahogany tip in vice like fingers. The wand was wholly unremarkable, if used and worn, save for the initials carved into the grip with a child's hand.

_C.W._

-----------

"Welcome back, Jean!" Sirius grinned as he gripped the French Auror's hand. "It's good to see you."

"And you as well," d'Orville replied, smiling and gesturing to the dozen and a half witches and wizards trailing behind him. "For all of us."

"Glad to have you."

"I'm sure," The Frenchman replied dryly, and then laughed. "As you can see, I brought all of the trainees we have to offer."

"Good. We can use them."

"So I supposed."

-----------

A few hours later, after the French trainees had been resettled in (split amongst the different sections, just as they had been before), Sirius and Jean shared a quick walk around the island. It had been too long since Sirius had really _looked _at Avalon, and Jean was just coming to know the mystical isle.

"This is a special place," the other commented quietly.

"Yeah. Always has been."

"So full of life and yet so close to Azkaban—legend tells of Avalon's sister isle, her mirror image. Do you believe this is so?"

"I didn't," Sirius admitted. "But I'm beginning to."

"Good." Jean smiled briefly. "You, of all people, ought to believe."

Sirius threw him a sideways look. "Don't you start. You know better than that."

"Better than what?"

"Than to believe in heroes," Sirius replied. "Your people look at you that way, too. We both know it's not so simple."

"Yes and no," Jean shrugged. "You are larger than life to most of the world, now, Sirius. Despite what they may say, all of Europe fears Voldemort. You, they see as their savior."

Sirius snorted. "I'm not that different."

"Of course you aren't." Amazing how the words of a stranger could strike so hard, so close to the heart. "That's what makes you special."

Sirius had no idea what to say.

-----------

Peter was a fiddler. All his life, the nervous habit had followed him—if he was uneasy and wasn't paying attention, he'd fiddle with something. Anything. The tendency to do so had often gotten him in trouble because Peter didn't look before he grabbed. As a child, he'd ended up toying with all sorts of dangerous objects: from dungbombs to exploding snaps to even (once) a porcupine. Of course, Peter had been one of the most accident-prone children in creation. For the most part, he'd trained the tendency out of himself, but there were moments.

_Dear Peter, _

_Of all the students I have ever taught, you have amazed me the most. While there will always be those with sheer brilliance, strong study habits, or a love of learning, I have never seen a boy with more heart than you have constantly displayed. _

_Nervous and lonely, you nonetheless befriended three other boys, three boys very different from yourself in every way. You stuck by them even at the worst moments, and you continue to do so today. _

_Yet today you are no longer the nail-biting and clumsy little boy I first met that day in September of 1971. You are a confident wizard, an accomplished statesmen, and someone I am proud to call friend. On top of that, you are still one of the most courageous men I have ever met. _

_This wand once belonged to Dietfried Grindelwald. I took it after we dueled in April of 1945, though why I kept it, I do not know. Now, however, I believe that it is meant for you. _

_I remember that I once asked Ollivander about this very same wand. He was quite puzzled by it, in truth, and finally responded that this wand was made for great evil, and for great good. Use it well, Peter, for I admire the choices you have made, and I know you will continue to make the right ones. _

Peter swallowed. It hadn't felt right and didn't now, but…there was nothing else. And the _wand _felt right even if the circumstances didn't; amongst a hundred other wands he would have chosen this one, light and solid and begging to be twirled. In many ways, he felt more connected to this wand than his old one, except that one had been _familiar_. His. Old. Yet people changed, Peter Pettigrew included. Maybe it was time.

"Only one way to find out," Peter muttered under his breath.

He stopped _fiddling _with the wand. The handle was smoother than any polish could achieve, and the egg-shaped grip settled perfectly into his palm.

"_Accio_ apple."

The green apple flew into his hand like it was meant to be there: not to fast or too slow, not out of control or bouncing away. Perfect.

Despite himself, Peter smiled.

-----------

"I don't believe it," Bill retorted flatly. "I just don't."

"Is it his wand?" Frank asked quietly.

"It has to be a lie," Bill pressed.

"Bill…" Standing behind him, Tonks laid a hand on his shoulder. She wasn't his student any more, but they had become close friends. Somehow.

He just dropped his head into his hands, slumping in his chair. "No. Yes. It can't be."

"Stranger things have happened in Azkaban," Frank pointed out.

"Not that!"

Tonks squatted down next to him, her hand still on his shoulder. "You know they have to ask," she reminded him. "You'd do the same, and no one's implying—"

"Yes, they are." His head shot up, and Bill glared at Frank. "Aren't you?"

"Only because I have to," was the level reply. "I know what it's like to—"

"No, you don't," Bill cut him off angrily; Tonks winced. "Not like this."

Frank's eyes narrowed a bit, but he continued calmly. "I know what it's like to lose family to Voldemort. And I don't want to ask this, Bill, but we have to know. We have to be sure."

"Charlie wouldn't do that," Bill protested helplessly, and Tonks saw the pain shining in his eyes. "Not ever. He'd die first."

Tonks swallowed. New to the Aurors though she was, she'd seen men and women turn. She'd seen the shadows in their eyes, the living nightmare Voldemort created. Some broke and some didn't—there seemed no way to tell which way someone would go before they were there, and she still didn't understand. Tonks hadn't _been _there, but Bill had, and she knew that was why he was so afraid.

All she could do was be there for him and hope everyone else was wrong.

"I know, Bill," Frank answered softly. "We all would, and I knew Charlie. Remember?"

Her former mentor nodded numbly. Frank continued:

"None of us want it to be true. But we have to examine every possibility. We have to be sure."

He slumped again. "I know."

Charlie's wand still lay between Bill and Frank, looking innocent and old, but Tonks wasn't looking at it like the others were. Her eyes were on the quiet man at the end of the table—Sirius had not said a word.

-----------

Four days later, the mystery remained. Rumors, of course, flew like the fastest golden snitch, zipping this way and that until no one knew for sure what was true. More than once, James had been waylaid by a group of reporters who demanded to know if Charlie Weasley was alive and a Death Eater. All he'd been able to respond was that Charlie had been a good man and dead for almost four years now. He told them not to make a monster out of a rumor, but no one in the media bothered to listen.

And of course, the Weasleys were hounded far worse than anyone else. Arthur was too much of a public figure to avoid the harsh stares or the reports of a red-haired Death Eater that no one seemed able to substantiate. Everyone knew someone who had seen or heard something—but no one could quite say when or where. They could, however, panic, and panic they did.

Most of them just didn't see that it was only Voldemort making another hero into a demon.

"I thought I'd find you here," Sirius said quietly, climbing up the half-grassy hill, half-sand dune that Bill sat upon.

"Why's that?"

"Because you don't seem to want to talk to anyone."

"Glad to see you got the message," Bill replied dryly.

Sirius grinned. "I've always been good at ignoring those things."

"I can tell."

Bill had hardly left Avalon since the news broke, only once investigating a report of "Charlie's" doings. Sirius knew this was hard on him, especially with everyone so quick to believe that this mystery Death Eater really was his brother, turned and used against him. He'd instructed everyone to leave Bill alone, but that didn't seem to help—even the younger Aurors were beginning to doubt.

He plopped into the sand to Bill's right. "How are you doing?"

"I'm doing."

"I don't believe it, either, if that means anything to you."

"I think you're the only one." Bill sighed, staring out at the water. The sky was almost clear, now, which still made Sirius uneasy. Why the sudden change? He just couldn't figure that one out. After a long moment, Bill turned to face him and asked, "Why not?"

Sirius shrugged. "Because I was there. Because I remember."

"So?"

"So, you know I've done things to myself to change what I am. One of the potions I took was a Memory Enhancer, and I remember…a lot of things." Sirius couldn't entirely keep the bitter edge out of his voice, but he'd done it to himself. No changing that now.

"Oh." Softly: "I can't imagine wanting to do that. It's got to be…"

Sirius grimaced slightly. "Yeah.

Several minutes passed in silence while each battled memories. Finally, Bill continued in a subdued voice.

"So, you're saying that you'd remember him?"

"If he had been there, I would," Sirius replied. "Faces and voices are easy, and I knew Charlie, too. I'd remember him."

"What if they didn't want you to?"

"There are a lot of things Voldemort doesn't want me to remember, Bill," Sirius said softly. "That doesn't change the fact that I do."

"Oh."

"And he wouldn't leave his wand behind," Sirius added. "You and I both know that—and James didn't teach Charlie so badly that he'd forget. This is a trap, and _we _are meant to know it. Voldemort is just aiming to create fear. As usual."

"He's aiming at the public." Bill didn't sound convinced.

"And probably at James, too, just a little. But not so much him as everyone else. Every hero Voldemort can turn into a demon eats at our image, and sooner or later, people are going to wonder if defeating him is worth the price. Sooner or later, they start to ask: What if he's not so bad after all?"

"That's preposterous."

Sirius smiled lopsidedly. "So's the idea that your brother might become a Death Eater."

"Yeah."

-----------

They called themselves Witnesses, and they weren't supposed to exist. Officially called the Society of Ariake, they were one of the oldest secret societies in the world—and one of the least known. However, Julia hadn't made a reputation for finding things long lost for no reason, and she'd walked right into a meeting without warning.

Half wizard and half Muggle, the Witnesses were an interesting organization, the behind-the-scenes influence in Switzerland. They were also the invisible link between the magical and mundane governments, and everyone who was anyone knew they were the ones to turn to if you needed something. So Julia had brazenly walked into that meeting, and had walked out again with a promise of action. In retrospect, she supposed that they'd been waiting for someone to do that, though they'd been surprised by her sudden appearance. Still, they'd just been waiting to be asked.

Many defined power by how quickly one could force a government to move; if so, the Witnesses were powerful indeed. Julia had her answer within a day.

She left them to work out the details with Peter's people and moved onto the next goal. Germany took a few days longer, but by the time she'd left, Julia's contacts were in touch with Peter's contacts and the situation looked promising. All she had done was nudge things along a little, but that seemed to be enough. By the time she headed back to Britain, the Alliance Against Evil was born—the Swiss had insisted upon naming it, and Julia hadn't the heart to resist.

Besides, she couldn't wait to see the look on James' face.

-----------

_February 24, 1993 _

A MUGGLE MURDER

_by_ Amelia Chevalier, _Special Correspondent to _Le Magic du Jour

National icon Eugène Legarde, President of Magical Matters for

sixteen years, was slain by a Muggle just yesterday. Information

is still being gathered at this time, but it appears Legarde, with at

least one companion, was murdered in a random accident while

utilizing a Muggle taxi-cab.

Government officials refuse to disclose Legarde's point of origin,

but he appeared to be heading towards his own home with a

female friend.

Legarde felt victim to a Muggle gun-shot and died instantly.

Early reports indicate that he was robbed as well, though no one

knows what a Muggle thief plans to do with magical money. His

family has been notified.

Vice Presidente Marie du Lac made a short but pointed speech

following the announcement of the President's death, promising

that France would remain a staunch partner in the Alliance

Against Evil.

-----------

"Are you sure this will work?" Julia asked quietly, trying to hide her nerves. She hadn't expected _this _upon her return to Grimmauld Place, and she didn't want to be so nervous, but her head was still spinning. She and Sirius had shared a quiet dinner before James and Lily returned from some appointment or another, and then Lily had dropped possibility in her lap.

"Peter has already done it," Lily reassured her. "Yesterday morning, and he still feels fine."

"Really?" Julia couldn't help fingering her left forearm, the constant reminder that she'd been a fool—and a shallow one that betrayed beliefs just because she was lonely.

"Really." She's never really appreciated how wonderful Lily could be, how nice it was to have someone not look down upon her for apprehension or even for fear. Friends were nice.

"You'll be fine." Strong hands squeezed her shoulders as Sirius whispered in her ear.

She half-turned towards him with a tight smile. "I notice Lily didn't mention that yours has been removed."

"Because it isn't. And it won't be," he answered grimly.

"Sirius—" she started to object, but he shook his head.

"It's a link, Julia. One he can use, but one _I _can use, too." Sirius shrugged lightly, but she didn't miss the tightness around his mouth, in his eyes. "Maybe someday I'll have that chance. But not now."

Julia pulled her hand away from that forearm with an effort. Lily was frowning, having clearly lost this argument with Sirius already—but Julia understood. Perhaps her viewpoint was simply different, or maybe she just understood that connection; either way, Julia knew there was no way to change Sirius' mind. Not when he stuck by a decision he hated so much.

"Then I'll keep mine, too," she decided. "So you don't have to face this alone."

"Julia—" Both Sirius and Lily exclaimed together.

"No." She shook her head firmly. "There's no reason for me _not _to keep the Mark, aside from vanity, and I'm not afraid of proving that I can recover from bad choices. Maybe I'll even learn something from it."

"There's nothing you need to learn about the Mark that you don't already know." But Sirius' voice had turned a bit thick, and Julia smiled up at him.

"And there's no one I'm worried about impressing, either."

_Even if this is one of the sickest declarations of love I've ever even heard of._

Sirius misled despite himself, clearly thinking the same. Julia shrugged slightly under his unwavering gaze—she loved the man dearly, but Sirius had no idea how unsettling he could be. Finally, he shook his head.

"I wouldn't have made this choice if I thought it would burden you, too," he said softly. "The Mark doesn't haunt me the way it haunts you. I didn't—"

"Don't say that," Julia cut him off gently. "I know about your nightmares, remember?"

Sirius only responded with a lopsided smile. "Yeah."

"So no heroics. I understand that you have to face some things alone, but this is not one of them."

"I…"

"No." She pressed a hand against his chest. "We are defined by the choices we make, right?" Sirius nodded, seeming numb. "Well, this is my choice. And for once in my life, it's a good one."

_Stupid and right all in the wrong ways, but this matters_ _to me. And I can see in his eyes that it matters to Sirius, too._ She smiled slightly and stood on her tiptoes to kiss Sirius on the cheek. _Some things are worth being stupid for._

-----------

Hogwarts just wasn't the same now, and that wasn't because of the empty hallways. The truth had taken a few weeks to sink in, but by now Remus knew why. By now, he realized why each day felt a bit less normal than the last, a little less real.

His perception of Hogwarts hadn't changed with time. It hadn't changed as professors came and went, as the fabric of what made Hogwarts _Hogwarts_in his mind was torn and re-sewn again. Truth be told, he missed Severus. He missed Vector. He even missed Trelawney, no matter how infuriating she had sometimes been. Everything had changed so quickly—too quickly—and he was still not sure what to think. Sometimes, he wasn't even certain what he should do.

Remus really did miss Severus, who had been his deputy since his first day as Headmaster. He missed the devil's advocate, the sarcastic intelligence, and the angry and bitter way in which Severus fought to make the world better. He'd disagreed with Severus on so many things, but they'd been close nonetheless. Not nearly so close as the Marauders, of course, but still friends.

Still, he might not have thought of that so much if it had not been for the visions.

Remus shivered.

-----------

Ironically enough, Julia awoke to her own nightmares that night, feeling fuzzy and disoriented and not quite able to differentiate between reality and dreams—

She remembered.

_"Why didn't you tell me?" Julia shouted. "How could you _not_? I trusted you when you said he was dead and I—" _

_"It kept you alive, didn't it? Didn't I?" _

_"I don't want your protection." She felt cold. "I don't want you controlling my life. Malfoy or no, my life is my own!" _

_He laughed emptily. "It's never been that simple, sister, and you know it." _

Suddenly feeling weak, she drifted back into sleep.

------------

The Other Author's Note: I'm finally home from deployment, and here is PD25 after a (very) long wait. I hope to get back to my old posting speed now that I'm home and now that Telewpen is living with me—she'll force me to write and post, which is a very good thing. That said, we are in the middle of a very busy training cycle right now, and I'm working 12 hour days, so please be patient with me! Regardless, I hope you enjoy this chapter and stay tuned for PD26: Worth Dying For.


	27. Chapter 26: Worth Dying For

**Promises Defended

* * *

**

_Chapter Twenty-Six: Worth Dying For_

* * *

"Julia?" Sirius prodded her gently.

She didn't answer, even when he jiggled her elbow. She was too busy staring at the newspaper.

-----------

_February 25th, 1993_

**ANOTHER ONE DOWN**

_by_ Rita Skeeter, _Special Correspondent _

LONDON: Discovered by neighbors yesterday in her one

bedroom flat, twenty-six year old Eloise Mayhew died with a

deceptively peaceful look on her face, clutching a picture of her

onetime classmate and boyfriend.

Yet the face in the picture looked horrified. Stunned.

Disbelieving. Just like many would when faced by a Death Eater

attack. Yet this face belongs to a particular man. A very particular one.

Charlie Weasley.

That name keeps coming up, doesn't it? With him safely dead

and gone, the world had forgotten James Potter's one and only

Auror apprentice—until his face started showing up everywhere.

"I knew him back at school," Hector Golden says uneasily,

looking back and forth as if some boogey man will strike from the

shadows. "He was always a little off…but I never thought he'd

do this! Eloise was heartbroken when he died."

But the coincidences keep adding up, don't they?

Minister of Magic James Potter was unavailable for comment.

Statements from his office were inconclusive.

-----------

"You're distracted." She eyed him a bit, and Bill shrugged. Tonks, however, didn't let up, and she arched an eyebrow when he did not reply.

"Well?"

He scowled. "So?"

"So, you've told me a thousand and one times that distraction gets Aurors killed," she pointed out. "Going to deny that now?"

"No," Bill snapped. "But this is hardly a battle."

"It's not," she agreed. "Still, practice as you—"

"Fight. I know. Leave it alone."

"No."

Bill grimaced. She'd weathered the transition from pupil to partner extremely well, but right now he wished that is first student had proven a bit more shy. Or at least less perceptive.

"I'm fine, Tonks," he snapped, half-regretting his tone immediately. She deserved better, but… He swallowed hard. _Charlie._

"That's not what I'm worried about."

"Then what is?"

"The fact that you're starting to believe this Hippogriff shit," she replied bluntly.

"What?" His head jerked around; Bill had been staring at the now-empty training field, but he focused on her. Tonks didn't swear often, and when she did it was to make a point.

"You know they're wrong, but you're second-guessing yourself," she said more gently. "Would your brother do this?"

"No!"

"Then why do you wonder?"

Bill slumped, sighed. "Maybe because I want him to be alive. More than anything."

"But not like this."

"No, not like this."

They stood in silence for a long moment before Bill dared continue. He didn't want to, not really—he didn't even talk about Charlie with his parents—but somehow he had to. Needed to? He shrugged, finally, not even sure what was in his own mind.

"Why Charlie?" he asked her, needing reassurance.

"Why any of us? I think because of you, your father, James. Probably though, just because it hurts."

"No kidding."

She didn't respond, but then, she didn't have to. Bill's only sister was Ginny, and they were too far apart in age to even be confidantes, but Tonks had somehow become the slightly younger sister that he'd never had. They were too much alike to share a traditional mentor-student relationship, but that was fine with Bill. Sometimes having a friend to lean on helped beyond words.

-----------

"Julia?"

"It's wrong."

"What?" Something in the tone of her voice screamed at him, and his response came out sharper than Sirius intended.

"The article. It's wrong."

Sirius put his spoon down, oatmeal forgotten. "Do you remember what happened to Charlie?"

"No. But I should."

-----------

"I am always ready to serve you, Master," Lucius said immediately. Too quickly. Too subserviently.

"Even in this?" Voldemort challenged, making Severus wince internally. Lucius should know better—he'd watched this scene play out a thousand times before. Had losing his station made him into a fool?

"Of course, Master. I shall do your bidding."

Severus' heart sank. He could see the cool flash in Voldemort's eyes, the playfulness of a cat cornering a choice mouse.

"Or die trying," the Dark Lord said matter-of-factly.

"Yes, Master." What else could one say? It was the wrong answer, of course, but the only choice available.

_Don't play this game, Lucius. You know you'll lose! _Even after fifteen years as a Death Eater, Severus could still feel his throat constrict. Once, Lucius had been a friend, even a close one. How had they drifted apart? Severus hadn't really noticed it happening, but he knew the distance was his fault. He'd changed; Lucius hadn't. It was a wonder he had survived to attain the position Lucius coveted so.

"I know you will not fail me, Lucius."

Did Severus' old friend hear the edge in that cold voice?

"Never, Master."

"_Lesson number one._ _Never make a promise you cannot keep. He will hold you to it, and you will die," Lucius instructed him. They were minutes away from Severus' initiation, and while Severus would not admit to nervousness, he was glad for the advice. The older man added one last thing before opening the door. _

"_Remember that, and you'll probably stay alive."_

"Bring me Black, and you will not be forgotten."

Lucius was still on his knees. Surely he realized the significance of that?

"Thank you, Master." Lucius bent to kiss the hem of Voldemort's robes.

"Now go." Still unbelievably cold.

"Yes, Master."

Severus shivered.

-----------

"Are there any memory restoring charms?" Julia asked quietly.

Lily hesitated before nodding. "Yes, but not many you really want to use…most are fairly bad."

"Bad as in dangerous, or bad as in dark?"

"Dangerous, mostly. Sometimes unreliable." Lily eyed her. "Why do you ask?"

Now Julia hesitated, briefly biting her lip. She'd come to trust Lily Potter, but if Julia's suspicions proved accurate, everything could change. Could the present ever truly override doings of the past? Julia feared finding out.

"Because I should remember things that I don't. Images are coming back to me in bits and pieces—and now I'm sure that someone put a Memory Charm on me," Julia finally replied. "I _need _to remember, Lily."

"But who would do that? Who _could_?"

Julia grimaced. "Probably Lucius. Probably to 'protect' me."

"He could have been right, you know," the other suggested gently. "There's a chance you may not want to remember."

"Probably not. But I've got to. I'm not a Death Eater any more and I won't keep their secrets in my head, even from myself."

Her friend nodded. "There's a potion you can make—it's a Memory Charm Reversal, not really that dangerous if you take the right amount. Will that work?"

"I hope so." Julia bit her lip.

"So do I."

But the images were still floating through her mind—"_Why didn't you tell me?"_

"_Julia, it's for your own—"_

_Sunlight._

"_There's something I need to tell you."_

"_Why me?"_

"_You're close to James Potter…"_

Julia shook her head, blinking rapidly. Soon, but not now. Soon.

-----------

The cheers were deafening. Bright light filled the crossroads—James had purposefully held his press conference at the rebuilt meeting of Diagon Alley and Knockturn Alley, knowing that the new paint and re-crafted shops were a message in themselves. This was his first real meeting with the press since taking office, and James wanted it to matter. He needed it to. Long ago, amid the dust and sweat of Quidditch matches, James had learned a bit about leadership. He learned that people needed to _believe _in those they followed, and ninety percent of that belief came from the image their leaders presented.

So he pretended to be strong even when he wasn't. He presented confidence even in moments of weakness because _someone _had to. That was different from Fudge's power hungry arrogance, though. James acted knowing the political risk and put himself on the line. Fudge expected others to follow simply because he said so.

_Here we go_. James tore his thoughts away from the past. Now was now, and these people needed him to be strong.

"Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen!" His amplified voice overrode the cheers easily, though James quieted the charm as soon as the crowd stilled. "Thank you for coming."

Flash bulbs exploding in his face. Had anyone ever told these damn reporters that James hated bright lights? _Probably._ He grinned at the thought.

"I won't waste much of your time—I know we all have many things to do and places to go. However, today I have the pleasure of announcing the formation of the Alliance Against Evil. For the first time in centuries, countries across the Wizarding World have banded together to fight against the great darkness that covers our world."

He paused, let them digest the news. In many ways, James still couldn't believe it himself.

"Today marks a turning point in history. Together with France, Switzerland, Germany, China, and Canada, we of Wizarding Britain will force evil aside, beginning here at home, but extending to other shores and other would-be Dark Lords. As time passes, I hope more countries will rally to our cause, but today is a solid beginning."

Now they cheered, and James smiled just a little mischievously. _For my next trick…_

But a reporter beat him to it. "Minister Potter! What about the rumors that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named offered a peace treaty to Fudge? Are they true?"

"That's a very good question, Mary, and it brings me to my next point." James sobered. "But yes, the rumors are true."

"Why—"

"What—"

"Fudge—"

"How _could_ he—"

A thousand more voices cried out as one, shock playing over almost every face. The questions came faster and faster; everyone had heard but no one wanted to believe. No one had really believed Fudge's cry for peace. They had been fighting for so long and so hard that there seemed to be no end in sight, and making peace without victory seemed like giving up.

After a few moments, James held up his hands to quiet the crowd. How quickly they responded surprised him.

"A few days ago, I received the same letter," he continued. "Granting me seven days to decide if I wanted to accept Lord Voldemort's _gracious _terms." James smiled grimly. "I don't need seven days, ladies and gentlemen, but let me tell you about those terms.

"Firstly, Voldemort demands passage of many laws, including restrictions placed upon Muggleborns, Half-bloods, and other 'half-breeds' as he so calls them, including werewolves and the Veela. Second, he demands a census be taken of all Muggleborn witches and wizards in the country—for what purpose only he knows. Third, he requires that we return property seized from his 'followers', none of whom have lost anything save in a court of law—but many of whom are convicted criminals and murderers.

"Fourth, he would close Britain's borders to all foreigners for an undisclosed amount of time—and keep everyone _inside_ our country. No one would leave without his permission.

"And finally, he demands that we deliver Sirius Black to him, for reasons we can all guess."

The crowd shifted, muttering darkly. James nodded in agreement.

"Now let me tell you about my answer: it's no. No, I will not bend and _break_ our laws because one man has decided that some wizards are less worthy than others. No, I will not spit upon twenty-plus years of fighting for what we believe in. No, I will not disgrace the hundreds who have died. And no, I will not give in to the _easy _solution just because I am tired of war.

"I won't do it. Too many courageous witches and wizards have fought for too long—too many of _you _have given up too much to take the easy way out.

"And I believe in fighting for tomorrow, the tomorrow that won't be if we give in now. I am no Cornelius Fudge. I will see this through to the end."

"What end will that be, James?" a cold voice suddenly asked, and silence fell.

James watched the crowd split hurriedly, his eyes already on the slender figure standing at the mouth of Knockturn Alley. How he had gotten there—or when he had arrived—James had no idea, but somehow he was no surprised. His heart pounded wildly in his chest, but he was able to answer calmly.

"Victory. Victory at whatever price we must pay. Victory and nothing less."

"Will you destroy a world in your efforts to win it?" Voldemort asked mildly, striding forward. The crowd shrank back in fear, but the Dark Lord was alone. Completely and surprisingly alone, actually. Was he so confident in his power?

_Sirius, where are you when I need you?_ James wanted to ask, but this really wasn't the time. This battle took place in a different arena.

"Are you?" James countered.

"I will do what I must." Red eyes flashed, but the tone was still friendly. James smiled slightly in return, coolly.

"So will I."

Someone in the crowd started whimpering.

"Yet you must ask yourself: is my offer so unreasonable?" Voldemort continued. "Do I ask for so much in exchange for what I will give?"

"Yes."

James met the red eyes levelly and thought he saw a hint of calculating admiration in the other's expression. Slowly, Voldemort began to smile, but James did not give him the chance to speak.

"We didn't start this war, Voldemort, but we'll damn well finish it," James declared. "No matter what it takes."

"Will you now?" the Dark Lord chucked as people stared in fear—he was only a dozen feet away from James' makeshift platform now. "I come before you today in peace, as an example of everything there is to be gained by working together. Is it so horrible that I ask for a few concessions in exchange?"

"In exchange for what?" James demanded, honestly curious to find out what the answer would be.

"An end to the needless deaths, to the costly battles where we destroy ourselves piece by piece." The other shook his head sadly, speaking earnestly. "I offer an end to the war, James. Surely anything is better than more bloodshed."

"Not when it's our beliefs you kill, instead of our friends." The moment he said those words, James knew they were wrong. _Don't give him an opening, fool! _But it was too late.

"Oh, yes. Friends." Voldemort smiled. "You don't want to sacrifice your old friend, do you? James Potter and Sirius Black. Best friends. Inseparable.

"The truth emerges."

"No, I don't," James admitted without thinking. The crowd was whispering—they were starting to wonder. He spoke quickly. "But the difference between you and I isn't that I do not want to—it is that I _refuse _to sacrifice any man, woman, or child to your tender mercies." He let his voice harden.

"Peace bought at such a price is not peace at all."

-----------

Brewing the potion was surprisingly easy, even for someone as out of practice as Julia was. The instructions Lily had provided said to take half now and half at dawn, but less than a minute after Julia swallowed the first mouthful, the memories started bubbling to the surface.

"_I don't know who else to tell this to…"_

-----------

Voldemort shook his head as if instructing a wayward child. He even looked disappointed.

"James, I did not come here to argue—I came to offer the hand of friendship, of hope. Will you refuse me?"

"Yes." His heart beat faster; James resisted the urge to reach for his wand. Would even Voldemort dare attack here, or would he prefer to play the peacemaker until the end?

"Are you certain, Minister of Magic?" An edge crept into the aristocratic voice. "This is your final chance. I will not extend another."

"Yes. We will fight, and we will fight until the end."

"Very well." Another enigmatic smile. "You were warned."

And then he was gone.

-----------

"How could you?"

Julia strode into her brother's spacious study, on fire with anger and betrayal. The new-old memories were still tearing through her head, but she knew now. She remembered.

Lucius rose as she slammed the door shut. "I do not recall inviting you in, sister."

"To hell with that." To her right, Goyle, Crabbe, Dolohov, and both Carrows stared incredulously; they had never seen her in a temper and had no idea that quiet and obedient little Julia shared her brother's edge.

"You knew," she spat. "All those years, you _knew _he was alive and you didn't tell me!"

The papers on Lucius' desk were starting to rattle around; out of the corner of her eyes, Julia noticed a map but paid it no heed. Other objects in the study were beginning to shake, including most of the furniture, but Julia did not bother to throttle her temper down. She had no reason to. Lucius' five companions had risen uneasily, still staring.

"I have no idea what you are talking about, Julia," her brother drawled. But his eyes were narrow.

"Oh, yes you do," she snarled. "Sirius. The man I love. Your wife's own cousin, as a matter of fact, who you let rot in Azkaban while I thought he was dead!"

He sighed, gesturing to the others. "Excuse us."

They left obediently; clearly, Lucius had not lost all influence amongst the Death Eaters. Julia let them go, not caring if she had an audience or not. She was sick of preserving her bother's precious image. _Let them talk._ Lucius finally continued, his voice sharp and reprimanding.

"I fail to see why this subject has arisen _now, _sister. The incident in question is long in the past."

"You Memory Charmed me," Julia interjected, feeling sick inside. "I found out and you erased my memories of it. And then you killed the person who could have saved him."

She was shaking in anger, but Lucius was still cool.

"I did what had to be done. I refuse to apologize for that."

"Of course you do." She rolled her eyes bitterly. "You always do. It's never your fault."

"You've gone quite far enough—"

"No. I haven't." Julia swallowed back a combination of heartbreak, fury, and loss. "I trusted you, Lucius. I trusted you and I loved you. And you betrayed me."

She continued in the same biting tone. Lucius did not seem to care that he'd hurt her, always so secure in his belief that _he _knew what was right.

"I always knew that I would have to choose between family and Sirius at one point or another. I just never expected you to make it so easy."

------------

The Other Author's Note: Here it is! Please let me know what you think!


	28. Chapter 27: Honorable Intentions

**Promises Defended

* * *

**

_Chapter Twenty-Seven: Honorable Intentions_

* * *

"There's something I have to tell you," she started in a small voice.

"What's wrong?" Sirius had worked late and ended up spending the night on Avalon, returning to Grimmauld Place in mid-afternoon of the twenty-sixth. Until he walked in the door, Sirius hadn't quite realized how nice it was to have someone waiting for him, but Julia had smiled and he'd felt warm inside. However, he'd known her long enough to be able to read her face.

She sank onto the couch and Sirius sat next to her.

"My memories."

"What?"

"Of Charlie Weasley," Julia replied. "I remember everything."

Sirius shivered, feeling a cold rock form deep in his stomach. He had to take a deep breath before he could reply levelly, praying that he hadn't lied to Bill. That the reassurances hadn't been for nothing. "You'd best start at the beginning.

"Yes." She bit her lip, then turned to him with wide gray eyes. "On September 27, 1989, I found out that you were alive. And in Azkaban."

"You…" Sirius felt as if his heart would stop. Had stopped.

Julia nodded. "I found out and my world fell apart again. I didn't know what to do, so I tried to go to the one man I knew would never leave you there."

"James." The pieces _clicked _into place; Sirius felt cold, as much for Julia as for Bill, as much for James as for himself.

"Yes. I tried to contact him through his former student, because I was sure that Lucius would notice if I met with James. We agreed to a place, and I told him the truth.

"But Charlie was killed on the street not long afterwards." Julia swallowed. "By Lucius or others—I don't really know who. But Lucius was behind it." She glanced down at the floor, twisting her hands together. "He Memory Charmed me afterwards, so I wouldn't remember. So I'd stay a good little Death Eater."

He heard the bitterness in her laugh, and the pain, but more dangerous was the underlying hard edge of fury. No matter what her allegiances, Julia had always been a Malfoy before anything else. She took pride in her heritage, her ancestors, and her family. But now that very family had betrayed her, and Sirius sensed the change inside her.

_She's far more honorable than the bastards deserve, _he thought to himself as Julia continued:

"Hearing about Charlie made something spark, so I went to Lily." She laughed humorlessly. "A simple potion and a night later, and I remembered everything."

Sirius laid gentle hands on both of her arms. "It's not your fault, Julia." His head was spinning with the new information—the chances lost—but he knew that much was true. Even if nothing else was certain, _that _was.

"Oh, I know it isn't." Her head came up and her eyes flashed. "And I confronted Lucius yesterday evening. He didn't deny a thing."

"I'm sorry. I know what this means to you."

"So am I," Julia replied coolly. The pain was buried well, overcome by anger and time. "But if he wanted to make my choice easy, there was no better way to do so. I've no regrets, Sirius. Not even about fighting my brother."

He didn't know what to do except squeeze her hands in his own. Sirius understood how hard it was to leave family behind…and unlike Sirius, Julia had loved her brother, loved her family. _Not like Regulus and I. Somehow, we lost the family part along the way and just remembered the hatred. Right until it was too late. _But Julia was different. Even when they fought on separate sides, she'd loved her family.

Now she had lost them.

"I knew this day would come sooner or later," she said quietly. "I just didn't think it would be like this."

"Me, neither."

"There's one other thing." Julia's eyes glinted. "Voldemort has given Lucius a mission. He, Goyle, Crabbe, Dolohov, and both Carrows were planning it when I stormed in…" She took a deep breath. "I think his target is you. The map he had looked like Avalon."

"Avalon?"

He couldn't keep the surprise out of his voice, but did not ask how she knew of the Aurors' Island, or even what she knew. Julia, Finder of Things and Places Long Lost, probably knew more of Avalon's history than Sirius did.

She nodded. "I don't know how they plan to attack, but I suspect they'll use a variant of what you did to get to Azkaban the first time."

"Our wards are better than that," Sirius answered automatically.

"And Lucius has nothing to lose."

Sirius chewed on his lip, nodding slowly. "True."

"He's lost his position at Voldemort's right hand. He'll do anything to get it back, which means he'll find you somehow. Any way he can."

"Thank you." The words were so inadequate. But Sirius wrapped an arm around her, pulled Julia close. "I hope you never regret this."

Julia buried her head in his shoulder. "I won't."

_I'll make sure you don't, _Sirius didn't say. Asking a pureblood to choose between blood and love almost always resulted in the triumph of the former, but Julia had always been different. Like him, she wished that the ancient Wizarding families would return to their ancient values instead of despising the rest of the world for their lack of purity, playing for power instead of for honor. Sirius had only recently come to accept that not everything pure was bad, but Julia had always understood.

And now she chose honor over family. Love over blood.

_I hope I'm worth that sacrifice._

-----------

"_Cruicio!"_

Screams echoed through the passageways, higher pitched and more terrified than usual. That, however, did not attract his attention nearly so much as the stead steam of Dementors heading towards the prison's northwest end.

Hairs rose on the back of Severus' neck, but the Dementors ignored him—they seemed much more wary of him now, as if they knew of his recent elevation. One could even call their attitude respectful, if such a word could be applied to the foul creatures. Severus shivered. No matter how long the Dementors had served Voldemort, he would always hate them.

Yet at the moment, he needed to know what drew them, so he walked on.

_As if you _don't _recognize that laugh, Severus. As if anyone wouldn't._

Damn the woman, she was—yet again—making a fool out of herself. And making a mockery out of every one of their Lord's followers who had nay concept of decorum, or even of simple decency. _And they wonder why the world hates us so! Fools._

Lengthening his stride, Severus strode through the Dementors as if they did not exists, refusing to let his expression change, not allowing his hands to shake. Their coldness could not touch him. He commanded the Dementors; they did not rule him. _Breathe easily. They will not touch what they fear._ Someone had told him that, long ago. One step followed the next, falling evenly on the worn-smooth rock. He was in control.

Rounding the final corner, Severus drew his wand. There was a time for violence and a time for reasoned discussion, and today did not fall in the later category. Points sometimes had to be proven.

"Bellatrix!" he snapped.

"_Crucio!"_ A child's helpless screams.

She laughed as she cast the final curse, all but bouncing up and town with glee. The little girl she had chosen as a target wailed sharply, just twice—at four years old, she could not last long.

Severus let her have that one kill. A corner of his soul objected, but his intervention could not have saved the child at any rate, and one had to choose battles carefully. He was no longer a Hogwarts professor. His job was emphatically _not _to protect the innocent. The blameless. Bellatrix pirouetted to face him, smiling innocently. "Yes, Severus?"

"Enough."

"I beg your pardon?" She frowned slightly as if she could not understand.

"I said enough," he repeated levelly. No need to raise his voice.

"Really?" she giggled. "But I was just getting started."

"No. You were just finishing."

Bellatrix's eyes flashed dangerously, and the playful exterior vanished. "I don't believe so, Severus."

"_Expelliarmus!"_ He flashed her a sarcastic and cold smile. "I do."

Bellatrix spun as he caught the wand.

"Give it back."

"I will not," Severus replied. "I warned you once. I will not do so again."

"Master will hear of this!" she screeched.

"I'm sure."

White with fury, she strode toward him, undoubtedly thinking that Severus would back down. He didn't.

"Understand this, _Snape,_" Bellatrix snarled. "You may be his current favorite, but I am his most loyal servant. You will fall from grace as all the others have, and one word from me will speed that fall! So do not think that you can lord over me. I can destroy you at any time."

Severus laughed. "Do please try."

He pocketed her wand and turned casually away, speaking over his shoulder. "In the meantime, clean up your mess."

-----------

"Sirius…" James growled.

"Yes?" He gave his best friend a look of exaggerated innocence, but the hoped-for smile did not appear.

"This is a bad idea. A _stupid _idea. Completely foolish."

"That's the point, Prongs."

James scowled. "You've got nothing to prove."

"I have everything to prove, actually," Sirius replied softly.

"How's that work?" the Minister of Magic demanded, leaning back explosively in his chair. Any moment now, James would be tempted to start breaking things, and this was entirely too nice of an office to destroy.

"I want to end this."

"You stopped them last night," James pointed out. "Or have you forgotten?"

Sirius shrugged. "That was easy. That was on Avalon." He waved a hand dismissively. "Even the Death Eaters could not have expected that to work."

"And how do you know that?"

"Come on, James. You know Avalon. He didn't even make it within a mile of the island."

"My point remains," was the mulish reply. He sounded like an angry child, but James couldn't help himself. Sirius could be such a fool sometimes. _And even the necessary times hurt, don't they, Prongs? _Honesty compelled him to remember that one of those 'foolish' decisions had saved his son's life, but James certainly wasn't about to put this in that category! Not this time.

"So does mine."

James groaned. "I can see where this is going."

"Of course you can." Sirius' bloodless smile was frightening. "They're going to come back at me. Malfoy _has _to, and I'd rather it be my timing, on my terms."

"You're crazy."

"You keep saying that. I'm hurt!"

"It's true." James' shoulders slumped with exhaustion. He could argue himself blue, but they both knew where this was going to end. Sirius at his worst—best? Youngest? _Most annoying_—was impossible to dissuade. "Are you sure you want to do this?"

Sirius nodded, and then grinned the old boyish smile. "I'm going to court Death, I'm going to take her for a dance, and then I'm going to kick her off the doorstep without even a kiss goodbye."

"Crazy, I tell you." But his heart wasn't in the words, or the grimace, either. James just hoped Sirius was right.

-----------

"_If you want to make yourself a target," _Peter had suggested with a scowl, "_Go shopping. It's what all the fashionable morons are doing these days."_

So Sirius all but pranced into Diagon Alley, feeling a little bit sorry for his choice of destination. Diagon Alley really didn't need to become a battleground _again,_ but unfortunately, there wasn't anywhere else to shop. Sirius could have gone to Hogsmeade had shops still been open there, but the small Wizarding town was mostly deserted. Someday it might be resettled, but Sirius knew that day would not come until the war had ended.

Still, he supposed that he could always rebuild anything he destroyed in the next few hours. There was enough gold in Vault #711 to buy Diagon Alley a dozen or so times over, and Sirius was more than willing to do so if he had to. There were worse causes one could waste money on.

For the moment, however, he was busy pissing some of those galleons away on other things.

An exploding scarf for James. A beautiful necklace for Julia. A levitating doggie bed for Peter's puppy, Joe, sure to get the mischievous Siberian Husky in loads of trouble. A new nightshirt for Remus to replace the one Sirius had stolen months ago while staying at Hogwarts. He was enjoying himself, even spending money on his friends when there was no reason to do so.

_Except for Remus, maybe, _Sirius thought with a smile. _I really do owe him that night shirt._

He'd missed the simpler things in life, like shopping and going out for no reason. Somehow, Sirius had forgotten that they existed after his escape from Azkaban; he'd been too focused on fighting and winning and staying alive to notice what he'd forgotten. Normality went by the wayside; making a difference became all important. Now, however, Sirius was beginning to remember how much the normal things mattered.

So he shopped. It was even fun.

After a few hours, however, Sirius was glad that he'd had the foresight to have his purchases owled back to Grimmauld Place. Not only had he amassed a far greater haul than he wanted to carry, but Sirius was also well aware of his own ability to destroy belongings in the midst of a duel. _And anything else in my vicinity!_ The grin came easily these days. Even mischievously. He was sure someone was following him.

By noon he was hungry, and he'd spotted Lucius Malfoy.

Briefly, Sirius debated stopping for ice cream at Florean Fortescue's, but he discarded the idea. Fortescue's had been a bit too abused last time around, and there was no need to repeat that performance. _I'm baiting them, not offering an all out war._ Sirius suppressed another smile and stayed close to the middle of the street. His shopping spree was finished. He'd stay away from the crowded shops. Thankfully, this was a slow day in Diagon Alley. Most people were still at work.

The silent curse snaked out in a very Slytherin-like manner and struck him in the back without warning. Sirius fell.

Or, in a perfect world, he would have.

Not so much today.

Sirius Apparated aside, appearing behind Malfoy and his five companions. _Fools._ _They stuck together for mutual support, but all it does is make them a single target. _Before any of the Death Eaters had a chance to turn, he struck out, arching his wand from left to right and sending power straight at the sextet. It was enough to stun, and even to hurt, but not enough to kill.

Four fell immediately, Three of them—both Carrows and Goyle appeared to be unconscious and Dolohov clutched ineffectively at his chest, yowling in pain. Sirius dodged left before Malfoy could strike back; the return curse missed him by at least a half-dozen feet.

"_Stupefy!" _Crabbe went down hard, and Sirius twisted right immediately to fell Dolohov. He almost felt bad—it was too easy. Too fast. The rest of the world might as well have been moving in slow motion.

Easier still would have been killing all of them, but Sirius would avoid that if he could. Brilliant red light flashed from his wand, and Dolohov went down without managing to aim so much as one spell. That left Lucius Malfoy, alone and unafraid.

"_Imperio!"_ Malfoy thundered. He'd always been good at that curse, master manipulator that he was. But Sirius batted it aside with ease, smiling. _I am beginning to understand._ Absolute power was…intoxicating. _Fun._

"_Expelliarmus!"_ He blocked that one, too.

"_Debellum!"_ Unspoken shield charm.

"_Rumperis!_ Sirius dodged, laughing. _It's like taking candy from a House Elf! _He replied in kind:

"_Stupef—_oof!" The fourth attack knocked him clean off of his feet, and Sirius landed on his back. Joints creaking in sudden protest, he rolled right, only to twist straight into:

"_Crucio!"_

Sirius yelped in surprise as his body convulsed, white hot needles of pain stabbing into every nerve. Immediately, he had to bite back the urge to scream—_And_ _it's your own bloody fault, you jackass! _he berated himself. _Overconfidence will get you killed!_

"_Vindireperio!"_ Sirius bellowed, and Malfoy screamed and sputtered as the reflected curse hit.

Sirius scrambled to his feet, but Malfoy had already risen. He extended his wand majestically as someone tried to shout a warning.

"_Imperio!"_ Lucius thundered again.

"_Contegorum," _Sirius snapped, narrowing his eyes. _You're better than this, Padfoot. So screw being cocky, and stop jerking around with this bastard! _Sirius started walking forward, feeling his robes swish around his legs in the light breeze. His wand remained at his side, only coming up when he needed to cast or block.

"_That's half the intimidation factor, boy. Make them believe that you're hardly expending any energy to deal with them. That they're hardly worth your time or effort."_

He smiled a small, tight, smile for the Mentor he'd lost. The friend he'd never appreciated enough.

"_Obfirmum!"_ Malfoy cried.

Sirius blocked without a word, his wand slashing up and across his body just once. "_Resiacio."_

A trash can flew at Malfoy, who blocked less gracefully than Sirius had, but no less effectively. "_Abiectum!"_

"_Everbero."_ He didn't raise his voice. Excitement was his enemy.

"_Formidilosus!"_ Malfoy was growing louder.

His wand twitched in a wordless block.

Another two steps, measured and even. "_Maligovex."_

Malfoy stumbled drunkenly, his body shaking wildly and screeching "_Debellum!" _in response.

Sirius twisted aside, knowing that desperation often got through; this was a powerful spell, for all Lucius was unbalanced and hurting. _Don't underestimate him, _he warned himself again. _He's fast, strong, and has everything to lose._

He smiled. _Then again, so do I._

"Imperio."

The best and safest way to end this was by convincing Lucius to go home and go to sleep—humiliated though he would be, Sirius doubted he would come back. Enough of his shame would rub off that Voldemort would never permit him a second chance. Malfoy would hate Sirius for it, but he'd be alive. Sirius didn't fear killing, and even recognized the need for doing so in war, but Julia would be hurt by Lucius' death, no matter how much she hated him at the moment. More so—despite how much he loved Julia—a humiliated and stepped on Lucius would be immaterial in the war. Insignificant. Defeat, after all, was far more lasting and fatal than death.

But Lucius had another trick up his sleeve, and the Imperius Curse never hit. "_Rumperis!"_

Sirius dodged again, but was almost hit by the follow on bone-breaker. He twisted aside and then dropped into his customary crouch. "_If the method isn't broken, boy, don't change it." _Again, he could hear Alastor's growling voice from the past. "_If you're comfortable with a stance, don't let anyone make you do something else."_ Why had he made himself into a target? What was he trying to prove?

_You sure are an idiot sometimes, Sirius Black._

His wand shot forward as Sirius' left knee touched the cobblestones. "_Roteventilo!"_ Lucius flew.

_Now do this while it can be done. Quick and dirty, like Alastor taught you—playtime is for pranks, not battles!_

Sirius had never realized how much power really could go to your head. Did Voldemort have the same problem? No time to wonder.

"_Stupefy!" _he snapped before Malfoy could rise. Only the fringes of the spell hit as his opponent suddenly rolled aside, but at least that was something. He redirected the next spell, and that one struck.

Malfoy went still.

Slowly, Sirius rose, doing a mental inventory to see if he was hurt. But, no—only his pride was damaged. There he was, supposedly the only wizard whom the Dark Lord feared, and he'd screwed up by the numbers. Been a complete ass. The worst part was that Sirius _knew_ better. He just hadn't bothered to think. _Do that against Voldemort and you won't survive the first minute_, he told himself sternly. _Never again._

Shaking off the regrets, Sirius strode towards the unconscious Death Eater, calling Malfoy's wand to hand as he approached. "_Portus_," Sirius muttered, picturing Malfoy Manor in his mind. Narcissa might not be too happy to receive her immobile husband, but that was just too bad. Ignoring the rapidly-gathering crowd, Sirius bent to place the wand in Lucius' hands.

Gray eyes flew open just as Sirius let go. Long fingers closed around the wand and magic lashed out.

Sirius flew backwards, sailing high into the air and gasping in pain. The sky blurred with buildings and swirled around him as he tumbled end over end, landing flat on his face and feeling his nose _splat _into a dozen pieces. "Umph—"

"_Avada Kedavra!" _

Sirius rolled blindly, thrusting his wand in Malfoy's general direction and seeking the closest mobile object. Cobblestones exploded in his wake, pelting Sirius with fragments and dust, but he leapt into his crouch and twisted to face Malfoy.

Then he smelled blood, rich and thick.

Blinking, Sirius slowly forced his vision to clear. The stillness was unnatural, and the crowd inching away in terror. Finally, he spotted Malfoy lying still on the ground, half-covered by the street lamp Sirius had blindly used as a bludgeon.

It had cut Lucius in half.

For a long moment, he could only stare. Could only shake his head and wonder at the irony in the world, wanting to kick himself, yet again, for his own stupidity. Not so much for trying as for failing…and for losing control of his own magic, striking out without absolutely _knowing_ exactly what he was going to do. Finally, he let the breath he'd been holding out, uncoiled from his crouch. There weren't profane enough words.

"Ah, fiddlesticks."

-----------

Hours later, after the live Death Eaters had been sent home and Sirius had personally broken the news to Narcissa while delivering Lucius' body to Malfoy Manor, he returned to Grimmauld Place, exhausted. Julia, thankfully, had understood; she'd shed tears for her brother, but her choice had been made. She would mourn, but she did not blame Sirius. Narcissa had been surprisingly civil, too, though Sirius suspected more dangerous anger had boiled beneath the surface. Still, she did not cry, and Sirius would have been surprised if she had. Black family traditions ran strong.

The owl arrived three hours later.

_My friend—_

_Your skills and determination continue to impress me; though I will miss dear Lucius, I mourn little for a man who could not gracefully admit defeat. I know you have acquitted yourself honorably, so I will speak no more of that._

_Instead, I will ask you to join me for dinner tomorrow night at Salamander's. I have reserved a table for two. I trust you understand that my intentions are honorable._

_I will await you alone._

_T.M. Riddle_

_at Casa Serpente._

------------

The Other Author's Note: Well, I've finally detached from USS CAPE ST GEORGE (CG 71) and reacquired the life I lost while an engineer there. So, look for more chapters in the near future—I'm writing again, and there's more to come! Let me know what you think, and I'll do my best to post again next week.


	29. Chapter 28: The World In Balance

**Promises Defended

* * *

**

_Chapter Twenty-Eight: The World In Balance_

* * *

He wore dark blue this time, satin and silk, more because he liked the robes than to make a statement. Still, navy was the Aurors' color, and Sirius supposed that he did intend to contrast with the Dark Lord's color choice. He was ornery if nothing else, and Sirius did not plan on playing the game by Voldemort's rules.

Grindelwald had been right about _that. _Somewhere along the way, Sirius had gotten lost in the greater picture and had forgotten himself. In his quest to do what had to be done and be what was needed he almost lost the quirkiness and attitude that made Sirius Black unique. His friends had tried to warn him, had asked him how far he intended to push…but Sirius always had been stubborn. Amazing how the words of a man he didn't even like had driven that point home.

Poor Mr. Salamander looked more than a bit rattled when Sirius arrived. Sirius had no idea whose name the reservations had been made under, but it clearly had not been T.M. Riddle. Salamander's usually composed face was pale, and when he bowed his movements were jerky and discombobulated.

"Lord Black. Welcome back to Salamander's."

"Sirius will do," he replied cheerfully, smiling. "I take it that he's on the balcony?"

"Yes." Salamander still looked uneasy. "I can escort—"

"No thanks. I can find my own way."

Salamander bowed again, perhaps a bit more smoothly. Sirius felt sorry for the restaurant owner; poor Salamander was accustomed to hosting the Councilarium on occasion, but this was different. This was the two opposing sides of the war closeted in the same room for hours, with outside forces to balance them out. _I suppose he's thinking of the way Voldemort and I _usually _meet, _Sirius thought wryly.

"I'll try not to break anything," he promised with a smile.

Salamander cringed slightly. "Thank you."

Sirius smiled again and headed for the wide spiral staircase on the edge of the main dining room. Salamander's had been built large, with a spacious ground floor dining area and four separate "half" dining rooms staggered on the floors above, where diners could look down at the majestic fountain in the center of the room and the patrons below. Above everything else was "the balcony," a semi-private seating area that held the hardest tables to reserve in all of Salamander's: seven tables spread out far enough that quiet conversation could not be overheard and privacy was guaranteed.

There were also private rooms available, of course, but Sirius somehow wasn't surprised that Voldemort chose the balcony. This night was not meant to be a secret.

Over two hundred eyes followed Sirius has he climbed the spiral staircase, and he was tempted—sorely tempted—to smile and wave. But this was not the time, no matter how much equilibrium he had regained. Even the old Sirius Black had understood when to shut up. _Mostly._ He smiled slightly to himself. _I didn't often _do _it, but I did usually know when._

He supposed that he could have Apparated to the top, but at Salamander's that was considered a sign of supreme arrogance. Odds were likely that even Voldemort had not Apparated up to the balcony; he was always concerned with appearances and tradition. At Salamander's, both were law.

Finally, Sirius reached the top landing, not out of breath but sincerely sick of walking in circles. His eyes scanned his surroundings immediately; four groups ate uneasily at the corner tables, trying desperately to pretend nothing was out of the ordinary. But conversation was even more muted than usual, and no one was looking at Voldemort.

The Dark Lord stood calmly beside the center table, his arms hanging loosely at his sides. As always, he was perfectly groomed, with black hair slicked back stylishly and dark gray robes lint free and immaculately tailored. The dark robes set off his too-pale features and red eyes, making Voldemort look almost like a monster out of a child's storybook—or exactly like the nightmare that had haunted the Wizarding World for the past twenty years.

He'd always been good at drama.

"Sirius." A regal nod, definitely superior but also welcoming. Odd how the red eyes tracked him. Suddenly, Sirius smiled slightly.

"Hello, Tom."

For a split second, his daring was rewarded by a look of shock playing over the boney white features. Voldemort quickly regained his composure, but Sirius saw something different in his eyes. For so many years, only Dumbledore had ever dared: once teacher, and then enemy, Dumbledore had seemed to have the _right _to do call him by that old name. Sirius wasn't Dumbledore, but that was all right.

He understood.

"Do join me," the dangerous wizard finally replied.

Food arrived almost immediately; the first course of Salamander's customary hors d'oeuvres appeared on the table so quickly that Sirius almost thought the proprietor had broken his own rules and used magic. But no—the human servers were just that fast, clearly wanting to put as much distance between themselves and Voldemort as possible. Sirius accepted the wine list from one of them, wondering: _And what about Sirius Black? Do they want to avoid him, too?_

"My Lords, may we offer you some wine?" one female server asked. She was pretty, with black hair and big brown eyes. Her robes were white and pink—Salamander's colors—and she managed to smile even at Voldemort.

The Dark Lord placed the wine list back in her hands without looking. "The house red, if you please."

She turned to Sirius, who suddenly had the impulse to laugh. He quelled the urge, shooting Voldemort a mischievous look.

"I'll take the house white."

And the game began.

They exchanged small talk at first, speaking of the weather and the menu, mostly, the only safe topics they could find. Sooner or later, Sirius supposed that they would arrive at the reason Voldemort had asked for this meeting, but he was contend to wait. Grindelwald had taught him that much.

Overall, even that conversation was not too bad; though Sirius certainly didn't feel _friendly _with his companion, he wasn't precisely uncomfortable, either. Strange how he could sit across a table and make small talk with a man who had spent the better part of ten years trying to kill him. _Or to break me, anyway._ _But when it comes down to that, I'd rather die. _

"Amazing, isn't it?" Voldemort asked softly. "That we can share a civil meal and speak cordially, but we cannot end the war with similar good faith."

"Not really." Sirius shrugged. "You and I both know that we don't want the same end to this war, so I fail to see what a civil conversation will do for us."

Voldemort chuckled. "You might be surprised by how much we are alike, Sirius."

"So might you." Then he smiled. "But we don't' have the same goals. That's what matters in the end."

"Is it?" Sharp black eyebrows rose—would Voldemort ever gray? Sirius had the feeling that he'd never allow himself to. Too much pride—unlike Grindelwald, he would never aspire to be a distinguished looking gentleman-villain. "Motivations change. Ideals warp with time."

"Except for yours."

Voldemort nodded appreciatively. "Because mine are _right_, Sirius. The world will change."

"It usually does," Sirius pointed out dryly.

Red eyes flashed.

"I did not invite you here to suffer through your immature posturing," the Dark Lord warned him.

"And I did not come to play by _your _rules," Sirius retorted. "Face it, _Tom. _I never have. I have no reason to start now."

A moment of silence passed; Sirius could see the famous temper being reigned in. He knew the expression well. It wasn't one the other wore happily, but one Sirius had seen quite often, weighing the consequences of striking out and rejecting that option as rash. Finally, the other steepled long fingers under his white chin.

"I would appreciate some common courtesy," Voldemort replied mildly.

"As would have I, long ago."

"Was I ever not polite to you? I have ever sought to preserve traditional forms of conduct."

Sirius snorted. "Rich, coming from you. I suppose that my ten-year stay in Casa Serpente and Azkaban was a vacation, then?"

"That _stay_ was what you made of it, Sirius," Voldemort said coldly, nodding at Sirius' left arm. "I have offered you choices. I continue to do so. When you refuse such opportunities, the blame is yours alone."

"I agree."

Surprise briefly registered on his companion's features; Sirius flashed him a cool smile and continued. "I have made my choices, and I don't regret them. I have chosen to remain loyal to friends—brothers—who would do the same for me."

Voldemort chuckled softly. "Foolish. Loyalty amongst equals is never rewarded."

"I disagree, but then power is not what I seek." Sirius gazed evenly into the red eyes.

"Yet you seek to become what I am."

"I do what I must."

"As do I."

It was Sirius' turn to laugh. "Then it all comes back to what we want, doesn't it?"

"That it does." An edge crept back into Voldemort's voice, but Sirius leaned back and sipped his wine calmly. On one hand, the situation was completely surreal—here he was, sitting across from the man who had tortured him for a decade. But somewhere during those ten years, he'd forgotten how to fear Voldemort. He'd even felt his hatred cool a bit, replaced by a calm need to _stop _the dark wizard and not let anyone else share his fate.

Once was enough. No more.

"You invited me here for a reason," he finally said. "I doubt it was to eat, no matter how good the food is." And his chicken was quite tasty.

"I came to offer you one last choice, Sirius." He even sounded sincere.

"And I came to refuse."

"I thought as much." Now Voldemort sipped his wine; doing so was a good way to buy time. "Yet I must confess that I am disappointed."

Sirius quirked an eyebrow. "Are you?"

"Indeed I am. I do not offer you the role of a servant, Sirius," the Dark Lord replied. "I am offering you the place of a partner. The opportunity to change the world."

"That's the problem." Sirius rose, setting his wine glass back on the table with a soft _clink_. "I don't want to change the world."

Voldemort looked up at him calmly, his voice surprisingly compassionate. "You won't save them, my friend. They're beyond that."

"I know." Sirius smiled a bittersweet smile. "But I don't have to save them. I just have to stop you."

"So you do." At last, Voldemort rose. "Then may this be our final meeting, for I would hate to see you die."

"I even believe you," Sirius replied honestly. "Though that will not change a thing. There can be no peace between us."

Voldemort extended his hand.

Sirius took it without flinching.

"Farewell, then," the Dark Lord said. "May the strongest find victory."

Sirius smiled. "Not much for right or justice, are you?"

"I _am _justice, Sirius."

"And I am here to prove you wrong." Sirius released the cold white hand. "Fare thee well."

Voldemort nodded and Sirius left, oblivious to the stares.

He was ready.

------------

The Other Author's Note: Short but…it just didn't want to be any longer. Hope you enjoyed!


	30. Chapter 29: Where the Heart Lies

**Promises Defended

* * *

**

_Chapter Twenty-Nine: Where the Heart Lies_

* * *

"James!" Bill exclaimed with surprise. He knew that the Potters still lived at Grimmauld Place, but he'd expected the Minister of Magic to be buried under a pile of work at the Ministry, not at home. Not now.

"Hello, Bill." The other smiled easily. He looked a great deal better. Happier. Whole. "Glad you could come."

"Did you send for me?"

"No. Sirius asked for both of us," James replied. "He hasn't told me why yet, but come in. Julia's here."

"Julia Malfoy?" Bill asked.

"Yes. Do you know her?"

"Vaguely. Not at all well." He shrugged, stepping through the doorway and into Grimmauld Place. He'd been to the ancient house before, for meetings of the Inner Circle, but he'd rarely looked around. Every bit as old as the Burrow, Grimmauld Place still lacked that lived-in and homey feel. The townhouse was more of a museum than a house, a residence instead of a _home_. Bill glanced around at the old paintings—mostly glaring at him—and the elegant furnishings. _No wonder Sirius spends so much time on Avalon, _he thought with a half smile. _This place must drive him insane._

He continued after a moment, realizing that James wasn't going to speak. "But everyone knows about her and Sirius. Or knew, anyway. Malfoy's death didn't change things?"

James shook his head. "Not from what I can tell."

"Odd. You think she'd not love her brother's killer quite so much."

"Julia's not like that," James replied. "Never has been. I know it was an accident. She understands, too."

"Oh."

But he had to wonder. Had to feel his stomach clench in fear for a friend. _Does she?_ _Or is she just waiting? _Was she just like the others?

"Come on. Let's go talk to them."

-----------

"This has got to be the best room in Hogwarts," Ron said around a mouth full of Chocolate Frogs. "We're hungry and we need a meeting place, and so it gives us sweets. Perfect!"

"Don't talk with your mouth full, Ron," Hermione said disapprovingly.

Ron rolled his eyes. "Dun care. Tastes good. And you're not my Mum."

"Thank your lucky stars on that one, Ron!" Fred laughed. "Mum'd have a heart attack over all the sweets you've eaten."

"Hey! This is only my fourth frog."

"After the six sugar quills," Harry laughed.

Ron glared. "You're not much better."

"So? I—"

"Will you two give it up?" Ginny interjected. "We were trying to accomplish something _other _than stuffing our faces with as many sweets as humanly possible."

"Now, Ginny, eating sweets is important," Fred admonished her. "More so for the male species than the female, as you'll find out when you're older—much older, mind—because girls get wrapped up in silly things like dress robes and figures and watching their weight—"

"Fred!" Ginny and Hermione cried together.

"I'm not _that _much younger than you," Ginny continued archly. "And at least I'm old enough not to be distracted by a bucketful of chocolate!"

"It is an _entire _bucket, dear sister."

But finally, the Misfits did get down to business. After all, prank planning and candy did go very well together.

"This needs to be spectacular," George said firmly. "Something _everyone _will remember."

"The stuff legends are made of," Fred added, digging his hand into the (large) bucket of Chocolate Frogs.

"_Big _legends," Harry interjected around a mouthful of taffy, and everyone laughed when his teeth tried to stick together. Even Lee chuckled, who was still less exuberant than he'd been before his capture. He was getting better. Almost two months had passed since Ginny had discovered the Imperius Curse placed upon him—how they had hidden that from Remus, Harry still wasn't sure—and he did seem much happier. _Living with Fred and George must make it hard to be depressed, _he figured. _Living _near _them certainly does!_

"So, what are we going to do?" Lee asked, making everyone exchange blank looks. Had they gotten so out of _practice? _Harry was ashamed at the thought, but no one could think of specifics. What was the world coming to?

_The war has finally hit us, too, _he didn't want to think but did. _Hard. _No matter what had happened before—at home and away, other places than Hogwarts—somehow, the Misfits as an entity had remained untouched. Even with Hermione's parents' murder, Lee's kidnapping, the forever-ago destruction of Godric's Hollow, they had somehow continued pranking, continued laughing. Perhaps jokes had been the best salve for their wounds, but the attack on Hogwarts dug deeper. And Lee's scars were all too easy to see.

So now they clung to pranks as some evidence of normality, as some proof that Lee could heal and everything would be all right. In the past month and a half, the others had justified the wait by saying that Lee needed time to readjust. Truth be told, they _all _needed time to heal. Of all the Misfits, Harry had been hurt the least by the war, and that said a lot. Once, he'd been hit the hardest. And somewhere along the way, they had grown serious. Or maybe the war had gotten worse. Either way, something had changed. Somehow.

"Something big?" Ginny finally suggested.

Everyone chuckled, though Harry felt a bit empty. Were they right to ignore the war? Were they right to keep going?

"Whatever we do, I vote that it's aimed at Professor Borage," Hermione's prim voice cut through the laughter.

"Hermione!" Fred gasped with mock indignation. "Pranking on a professor? Why, it's _wrong!_"

"Deliciously wrong," George snickered, making even Hermione smile. They'd played tricks on nearly every professor Hogwarts had, but she'd always argued against it. Until now.

"He's worthless," Hermione retorted. "Have you even _tried _learning from him?"

"Well, no. We generally don't bother with learning these days, dear girl. We just spend class periods laughing at his disgusting green underwear."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Well, if you _did_, you would know that he doesn't know _anything. _I doubt he even read the textbook."

"Aside from you, has anyone else?" Ron snickered.

"Ron!"

"It's true!"

"It is not! There _are _people who care about their education." She whirled right. "Don't you, Ginny?"

"Well, um…"

Ron grinned triumphantly. "See?"

"You horrible—"

"All right, all right!" George interjected while the others laughed. At least _those _two were back to normal. "Enough fighting already. Let's figure out what we're going to do."

Hermione huffed. "Well, if _some _people would let me speak, you'd already know that I have an idea."

"Why didn't you say so?" Harry demanded, kicking Ron so the other would keep quiet.

"Hey! I—"

"Shut _up, _Ron," Harry hissed. Hermione speared the red-haired second year with a glare before replying.

"I _tried._"

"Then don't keep us in the dark," Lee finally added. "Talk, already."

And Hermione did.

-----------

The four of them sat in the parlor of Grimmauld Place, having exchanged pleasantries and how-are-yous and now at a loss for words. It was easy enough to tell that Julia was uncomfortable; despite her composure, her eyes kept flickering from James to Bill and back again. She sat next to Sirius on the couch while Bill and James made themselves comfortable in nearby arm chairs, looking slightly pale and very hesitant. No one had bothered to touch the carafe of juice on the table.

"So, why _are _we here, Sirius?" James finally asked. Sirius, however, turned to the witch next to him.

"Julia?"

Her smile was wan, forced. "Yes. I'm sorry to call you here without an explanation, but I wanted the two of you to know…especially in light of recent rumors."

"Recent rumors?" Bill echoed, shooting James a worried look.

"Yes." She sighed. "About your brother."

"Which—_Charlie?_" Bill gasped, and James felt his own fists clench. Like the oldest Weasley boy, his heart ached every time he heard another malicious—and fabricated tale about "Charlie Weasley's" doings. He knew Charlie was dead. James had seen the body, had been at the funeral. And he'd never mentored another Auror. He had failed Charlie too completely to try again.

Julia nodded, tearing James away from his dark thoughts. "Before I say another word, he _is _dead, Bill." James felt his own heart thump in his chest, either from painful relief or dashed hopes. On one hand, it was good to know what he had always known. On the other…he saw the same half-heartbroken expression mirrored on Bill's face.

Julia continued:

"And I can prove he is dead." She took a deep breath. "And who killed him. And why."

Bill looked speechless; James had to swallow hard before his voice would work, and even then it came out in a growl. "Who?"

"My brother," she said quietly. "Lucius Malfoy. Probably with others, but I don't know who for sure."

"Convenient now that he's dead," Bill grated. James didn't miss the warning look Sirius shot the younger Auror.

"I suppose," Julia answered slowly. "But no less true. He admitted as much to me a week ago."

James felt cold. Felt empty. All the emotions from four long years ago came crashing back down on him, heavy as a repressive black cloud. Suddenly, he missed Charlie desperately, missed his student who'd been so brilliant, the partner who had known him so well that they could predict one another's moves before they made them.

"Why Charlie?" he finally managed to whisper around the lump in his throat.

Julia bit her lip. "I suppose that's my fault."

"_Your_—"

"Let her finish, Bill." James was almost surprised to hear himself say those words instead of Sirius, but he had to know. Needed to know.

"Thank you." She flashed him an uneasy smile, then continued: "I knew Charlie was close to you, James, but no one watched him the way they watched Peter and Remus." Julia looked down at her hands. "What I didn't expect was that they were watching me."

"Why?" James had to ask.

She looked up. "Because I found out Sirius was alive. You were the only man I _knew _had both the power and motivation to get him back. I knew you would—and I knew Charlie would tell you.

"But Lucius knew me, and I guess I wasn't as subtle as I thought I was. Charlie died shortly after I met with him. I wasn't there, but I remember confronting Lucius afterwards…and then nothing. He Memory Charmed me."

"But you remember now," Bill said, not very dubiously. His face was sheet white.

Julia nodded. "I took a Memory Charm Reversal Potion after the articles in the paper started to jar my memory. I knew I should remember something… And now I do."

A long moment of silence passed before anyone spoke; finally, Julia continued quietly. "I am more sorry than words can explain. I wish I had better news for you, but at least I can confirm that the reports are lies. It's the least I can do."

Bill nodded numbly, and James wished he could think of something to say. _Knowing_ was far better than the ongoing mystery, the lasting pain…but at the same time, even the slimmest ray of hope had been destroyed, now—Charlie was dead. End of story. End of everything.

After a moment, Bill rose and walked woodenly to the other side of the room, staring blankly out the window. James and Sirius exchanged concerned looks, but left him alone. No matter how much James was hurting, he knew it had to be worse for Bill. Charlie had been a close friend, but he wasn't James' brother-and he know how losing one of those felt. Even though Bill had known for years, the loss still burned.

It always would.

-----------

Six days of preparation later, the Misfits were finally ready. Every one of them had played a critical part, and this was possibly the most complicated prank they'd ever managed—if they could pull it off. Harry sometimes had his doubts about that, though Hermione had crafted a solid plan in her usually organized manner.

_Odd how it's _her _pranks that never fail, _he thought with a silent laugh. _She resisted the idea of _misbehaving _the most, yet here she is. The mastermind._

_I suppose that Hermione would point out that if we're going to do something, we might as well do it right._

He exchanged a knowing look with Ron as Hermione led them into the Potions classroom, bustling her way through the crowd of students. No one would guess that _she _was up to something; Hermione was always in a hurry to learn. And no one would ever consider Hermione a prankster, no matter how many times she was caught. She just wasn't the type.

But it was in honor of Hermione's idea that the middle subset of the Misfits got to kick this prank off; that was their usual way of dividing the fun: whoever thought of the trick got both first dibs on seeing it in action and the best chance of being caught. Today they had every chance of the entire student body knowing who was responsible for the trick, but the Professor in question probably wouldn't figure it out until later. _Much _later, if they were lucky, and if Professor Borage didn't spend a lot of time talking to any of the teachers who were likely to figure the truth out.

The trio took their usual seats, each trying not to stare too conspicuously at the glass of orange juice Professor Borage always kept on his podium. It was charmed to self-refill and never get warm, which had made the Misfits' task just a little harder, but in the end they had succeeded. Between Hermione's fancy spellwork, Ron and Harry's "clumsiness," Fred and George's downright sneakiness, Lee's ability to hide in plain sight, and Ginny's ability to steal absolutely anything, they'd managed to pinch the glass, creep into Borage's chambers, and charm the never ending supply of orange juice that filled the glass from the kitchens.

Of course, anyone else who took a swig of that juice would be just a little put out, but at least they'd know it. Borage wouldn't. Not at all.

Professor Borage wandered into the classroom and Harry pulled out his Potions book, more to have something to fiddle with than anything else. Truth be told, old Borage made him almost wish for Professor Snape—as nasty and as unfair as Snape could be, at least he could teach. Borage, however, seemed unaware of the fact that he was supposed to do something other than ramble aimlessly.

Immediately, Borage launched into his random lecture—he never bothered with introductions—and boredom set in. Almost an hour passed before he finally reached for the orange juice.

He took a deep drink, and continued.

"So as you can see, the properties of Felix Felicis clearly indicate that—_burp_—this is not a potion to be taken lightly. _Burp. _Many witches and wizards have made this potion incorrectly and lived to regret it. _Burp._ Therefore…"

Borage didn't notice anything was wrong, but the second-year Gryffindors were starting to giggle. Even some of the Slytherins were snickering—if there was one thing the two houses had in common, it was dislike of Borage. He was a scatterbrained idiot who hardly knew a thing about teaching _or _potions, and trying to sit through one of his classes was ten times worse than Professor Binns. At least Binns had the excuse of being dead.

Borage droned on, burping every time he paused to take a breath. His expression didn't change and did didn't notice a thing because he wasn't really burping—but the sound was perfect. Dead on.

Within a few minutes, the Gryffindors were laughing openly.

Several hours later, the Misfits gathered at one end of the Gryffindor table for lunch.

"Is it still going?" Ron asked the older three.

"Oh, it's going all right," Fred snickered.

"Bad enough that he stopped class early," Lee added with a grin. "Poor chap never figured out that the more he drank, the more we laughed."

"_And _Professor Tonks didn't say a word when they were talking before class, even though Borage was burping every few seconds," George finished. "Good job, Hermione. Now I just can't wait until he looks in the mirror."

"_I _can," Ginny interjected with a frown. "It's all well and good for you six. I have class with him this afternoon and I'd kill to get out early."

"Sorry 'bout you luck." Fred shrugged. "He's not here. Probably back in his chambers by now, listening to the mirror tell him what's wrong."

"And listening to his mirror blame us if we didn't do that part right," Hermione fretted.

Lee scowled at her. "Will you stop being such a pessimist? Ginny charmed the stupid mirror to perfection."

"Shh! Not so loud!" was her only response.

Harry and Ron snickered together. "Stop worrying, Hermione. If he knew, Borage would be in here already, blowing his lungs out and screaming at us."

As one, the Misfits twisted to glance at the doorway, but Borage was nowhere in sight. Laughing, they exchanged guilty looks and went back to lunch.

-----------

"Here we are." James turned to Lily with a smile, squeezing her hand. They'd just Apparated away from the doorstep of Grimmauld Place and back to a front walkway they both knew so well.

Under their feet were the same cobblestones that there had always been, worn and ancient, trampled on by generations of Potters. The texture was the same. So was the slightly uneven angle the walk had laid down at. Those cobblestones had not changed—what had changed was beyond the front walk.

The burned-out shell was gone. The rubble and broken dreams were mended. The house at Godric's Hollow had been rebuilt—not as good as new, but as good as _old_. Every stone had been re-laid with care, using the old fragments where possible and making new where it was not. Bit by bit and month by month, James had his family's ancestral home rebuilt in secret. The only change he had made was to make the house Unplottable so that another attack would not destroy it so easily a second time.

Lily hadn't seen the rebuilt house since the early stages; she'd been too busy with the Unicorn Group and other projects to come out. But after James had figured out the trick of Apparating in a wheelchair, he'd gone there every day, in the early hours of the morning, just to see. After all, he'd not had much else to do when Fudge had ousted him from office. So he'd watched.

And the time paid off. As grateful as James was for Sirius' never-ending hospitality, Sirius had a life to get on with, too—and it was _good _to be home. Good to breathe his childhood air and see the tree that he'd climbed as a boy, breaking three ribs in a stupid stunt while trying to impress some distant cousin or another. He felt rejuvenated just looking at _his _house, and he could see from Lily's smile that she felt the same way. She grinned up at him, eyes shining.

"We're home."

"Home indeed." James grinned back. "You think Sirius will be glad to be rid of us?"

"I think Julia will." Lily winked.

"Oh? Do you know something I don't know?"

She took him by the arm. "Not yet. Let's go inside."

They strode up the walk side by side, not in a particular hurry. Being together, being here, with nothing to worry about and no one to fight was relaxing. Relieving. The same key opened the front door; the Potters had always been old-fashioned like that. The same floorboard creaked when James stepped inside and to the right—the sound had always driven his mother crazy and made his father laugh. The robe rack still looked ready to sprout another arm after the last one had grown into the far wall when James was just a boy. The house didn't even smell new; everything felt like they had left yesterday.

James smiled. They were _home._

-----------

Grimmauld Place was quiet with the Potters gone; Sirius had grown so used to their presence (when he was actually there) that the old townhouse almost didn't feel the same without them. He'd hated the place, once, but James and Lily's presence had helped make living there more bearable—after awhile, Grimmauld Place had stopped feeling like his parents' house and more like his own.

Was that because Sirius was growing or because Grimmauld Place had changed?

And now the next step, only a handful of days old.

Julia.

Sirius had fallen in love as a teen and had not really understood what it meant. Then, things had been simple: a Black and a Malfoy, more than acceptable. Encouraged. Expected. Even though he was a rebellious Black, he was still of the finest blood, and her parents were pleased. Even Sirius' parents were satisfied, though that was probably the last time they'd been proud of him. But then the kicker. Then Sirius had left Hogwarts and become an _Auror_, thereby breaking all ties with his family forever. He'd even tried to break away from Julia, not that she'd let him.

But time had gotten the better of them, and they'd never managed to find out what _living _with one another was like. They never got the chance to discover if Sirius' habit of brushing his teeth when he woke up in the middle of the night would drive her crazy, or if finding blonde hairs all over the place would drive him to distraction. If any of a thousand and one irritating little habits that each had might become the breaking point.

So there they were—finally together and hoping for a small space of peace in the midst of war. Sirius didn't ask for much; he just wanted to find a semblance of normality in a life that had spun out of control when he hadn't been looking. And Julia just wanted family that wasn't going to betray her and then claim it had been for her own good. They didn't ask for safety. They didn't want perfection. But both figured that they were owed a little _something_, and they were going to collect.

Thankfully, the Purple Cauldron delivered meals via Floo, because they were both terrible cooks and hadn't wanted to go out. For once, they just wanted to be alone, to be themselves, and nothing more. They wanted to find out if there was a future lying somewhere beyond the war's end.

"I bought the new _Atlas of the Magical World_ today," Julia told him, her feet propped lazily in his lap and her arms draped over the back edge of the couch. "It's dreadfully incorrect."

"Historically speaking?"

"Of course. They always get the obvious things wrong." Julia rolled her eyes. "Then again, Fife Bennigan is listed as an editor this year, and you know how _she _is."

"Hey!" Sirius objected. "I dated her fifth year."

Julia snorted. "Well, that says something about your taste, doesn't it?"

"Don't _you_?"

"Nope." She smiled smugly. "_I _hit you upside the head with a Bludger, thereby knocking some sense into you. For the first time ever."

"And my parents were eternally grateful," he replied dryly.

"I think you turned out all right."

"You must be the only one." Sirius held up a hand and started ticking off fingers. "Let me count my evil ways. One: I am obnoxious and loud, not fit to be seen in public. Two: I tend to break things that are not my own, thereby being charged thousands of galleons for destruction of public property. Three: I am lazy and consequently tardy in my payment of said debt, earning myself a court order and threats of further legal action. Four: I pick fights with Dark Lords, thus creating the situations in which I am forced to destroy various items such as—but not limited to—buildings, street lamps, park benches, roads, and a historical monument or two. Five—"

Julia was almost laughing too hard to interrupt. "Wait a moment. Are you serious? Did you really—"

"I'm always Sirius," he cut her off, grinning wickedly.

"Stop that!" She kicked him lightly in the stomach. "I'm sure that joke was old by the time you were five."

"Four, actually."

"Regardless. Back to my question. Were you really charged for destruction of public property?"

"Oh, yes. The mayor of Diagon Alley most definitely sent me the bill. He claims to have sent several, but trying to explain that mail sent to Avalon is automatically forwarded to a box that no longer exists apparently doesn't cut me a lot of slack. He threatened to take me to court if I didn't pay."

"Court?" Julia demanded. "For saving their lives?"

"Yup." Sirius grinned briefly, then shrugged. "It wasn't anything I couldn't afford, so I paid. It's not like they could charge Voldemort."

Julia coughed. "Probably not a good idea to try."

"That's what I thought. And at least the gold went to a good cause."

"How much was it?" she asked curiously.

"Oh, about twelve thousand galleons."

"Not too bad, I guess." Julia chuckled. "You did make quite a mess."

Sirius grinned back. "I've always been good at _that_."

-----------

Five new prisoners were in Azkaban, sentenced to remain in isolation for twelve days each as punishment for their failures. The sentence was a new one, and Severus' idea, for he had dissuaded the Dark Lord from killing Lucius Malfoy's five companions, all of whom had been defeated by Sirius Black after hardly putting up a fight. Neither altruism nor a sudden bout of pity moved Severus; he'd have been just as happy to let the incompetents die painfully and serve as a reminder to the others—but underestimating Black had gotten enough Death Eaters killed already, and their numbers were dwindling bit by bit. Especially after James' reelection.

Severus may very well have been the only Death Eater worried by this new Alliance Against Evil. While he knew that months would pass before Voldemort's followers were affected by the Alliance's formation, he also knew that day would come. Sheer numbers would overwhelm the Death Eaters if nothing else did—the combination of six nations' Aurors (or their equivalent) would be a powerful force.

That meant that the Dark Lord couldn't go about killing followers whenever the fancy struck him, even if they had acted like cowards and fools. Recruitment was slowing despite their recent advances, and even Voldemort recognized the influence Potter and Black had on those who were frightened enough to turn to the Dark Lord for protection from the future.

They weren't so frightened any more.

So Goyle, Crabbe, Dolohov, and the Carrows rotted in their new cells, with only Dementors for company. A dozen days in the creatures' presence wouldn't drive them insane, even with only stale bread to eat and grimy water to drink. And they might even learn from the experience.

Severus was half-surprised that the Dark Lord adopted his suggestion, but Voldemort had proven _very _tolerant of both Severus and his ideas lately. The implications of that tolerance were frightening, especially with Voldemort asking for his opinion more and more often. Severus felt that he was being groomed for something—but for what?

"I want his head," Narcissa snapped, jerking his attention back to the present.

"Cissy." Severus was startled enough to use her childhood nickname, but she didn't notice. Mid-morning sunlight streamed through the windows at Domus Archipater, too, though he doubted that she noticed _that_, either. Narcissa had never been one to admire the simple beauty of nature.

Then again, neither had he, but anything was a good distraction right now. This game was dangerous, made more so by the fact that he had friends on both sides. The old and the new.

"He killed my husband, Severus." Blue eyes flashed furiously. "I demand blood."

_And what am _I _supposed to do about that? _he didn't ask. _I am not your kin and this is not my responsibility. _Perhaps the added tension of the last few weeks made Severus' reply harsher than it should have been. "Lucius was a fool, Narcissa. He knew that he had accepted a suicide mission, but his pride would not let him refuse."

"He would not have _survived _refusing."

"Lucius would have." He cut her frustrated reply off with a raised hand. "His power base would have been damaged, yes, but Lucius would have survived. I made such a point to him and was ignored."

"You…?"

Severus softened his tone with an effort. Narcissa deserved better. "He _was _my friend. And I grieve for Lucius as well, but we cannot act now. Another day, perhaps, but Sirius Black is the Dark Lord's prey. We are not to interfere."

"He needs to die," she spat.

"I agree that if he does not, we are finished," Severus replied. "But that does not change our Lord's intentions for him. We will wait."

Narcissa frowned. "He—"

"We will _wait._"

-----------

"What are we doing here, Remus?" James asked, smiling as he, Peter, and Sirius walked into the Headmaster's office.

Remus rose form the couch and grinned back. "Couldn't resist the mystery, could you?"

"Of course not."

Peter snickered. "Though we did have to tear him away from the house at Godric's Hollow with promises of food. Lily's at a Unicorn Group meeting."

"Food I can provide. Even drinks, mild though they may be."

"Spoilsport," Sirius groused.

The others chuckled. "I don't think Julia would appreciate it if you came home late _and _drunk mate," James pointed out.

"I never said that I'd be late," Sirius shot back.

"Or drunk, for that matter," Remus added helpfully, earning himself a dirty look from both Sirius and Peter. He shrugged innocently, and then continued: "Because if you are, you'd miss all the fun."

"What fun?" Sirius demanded.

"This fun." Remus turned to the office's fifth occupant, a tiny gray-haired witch wearing horn-rimmed glasses and velvet green robes. "This is Circe Buzzer. Circe, allow me to introduce James Potter, Sirius Black, and Peter Pettigrew. In no particular order."

She nodded brusquely and shook each hand in turn, studying the Marauders over the top of her glasses. "Easy enough."

"Circe is a painter," Remus explained before Sirius could ask the question he could see brewing. "And she's here to paint the four of us."

"Paint?" Peter repeated. "Why?"

Remus shrugged slightly, almost at a loss for words. He'd thought of his response so many times, yet he still had a hard time explaining exactly what he meant. How much it meant. "I thought we could leave a lasting memory of ourselves here at Hogwarts. After all, how many times in history are Hogwarts' greatest pranksters going to have one of their own as Headmaster?" He grinned. "I thought I'd display us in the Great Hall."

"I hear the Misfits are doing pretty well," James put in as the others considered Remus' words. His hazel eyes twinkled. "They may eclipse us one day."

"Traitor," Sirius muttered under his breath as Remus laughed.

"Oh, they're impressive, but not good enough. Maybe I'm just…experienced, but there hasn't been a thing I couldn't pin on them."

"And you're saying Dumbledore didn't know it was us every time?" Peter snorted. "I think it must be a Headmaster thing, Moony."

"Nah. He couldn't prove a thing, whereas I always can." Remus grinned. "Experience, my dear Mr. Wormtail. Experience."

They all laughed, even serious and focused Circe, until Sirius interrupted. "I think it's a great idea."

Heads turned to face him as his sober expression widened into a grin.

"After all, as a portrait we can wreck havoc for _centuries._"

-----------

Several hours later, the Marauders could see the pencil outlines of their painting and the beginning of the spells Circe had cast. She'd spend weeks more completing her work, but four smiling faces already looked out at them—mirror images but not, winking and grinning with barely restrained mischief. Looking back at themselves, James, Peter, and Sirius had to admit that Remus had been right. There they were; if not immortalized, at least lasting for awhile.

"Hogwarts won't ever be able to forget us now, will they?" Peter asked with a smile.

"As if they ever could," James laughed. "They'll still be finding evidence of our pranks for generations to come."

"But now they'll have faces to put with the names." Sirius slapped Remus on the shoulder. "Good thinking, Moony."

"Thanks."

Still, Sirius saw Remus' smile falter for a moment, and wondered about the sudden pain in Remus' eyes. What was he seeing? What had driven Remus to have this painting made so close to what could become the end of the war? What did he fear?

Sirius almost asked, but stopped himself. Some questions were best left unanswered. Sometimes the future simply had to be lived.

------------

The Other Author's Note: Safe and sound in California, move complete! I've got the right computer here (finally!) and I'm finding all those bits and pieces of chapters that I wrote during the move. Much to my surprise, I've recently found a piece of PD33 that I didn't remember existed, so here is PD29 for your reading pleasure. Please do review!


	31. Chapter 30: Blood and Honor

**Promises Defended

* * *

**

_Chapter Thirty: Blood and Honor_

* * *

The ceremony was appropriately elegant and solemn, as befitting the son of such an old and prestigious Wizarding family, and all of the appropriate witches and wizards were there. Of course, Headmaster Lupin allowed all of the _right _children to attend, even though they had to miss classes to do so. Such traditions were _important_, especially to the development of young and impressionable witches and wizards. They needed to understand how those who mattered in the world mourned their lost.

Each of the Fourteen Families was invited, and the heads of each came, most bringing their heirs and significant family members as well. All, however, were grateful to see that Sirius Black had the sense to stay away from the deceased's sister—a major consideration (and somewhat of a surprise) when the senior of the Fourteen had been the killer of the dead man, yet remained the lover of the sister. No one could quite call Black a murderer, of course. Duels were perfectly legal, and even an encouraged way to settle disputes. Yet few of the guests were pleased to see him.

Truth be told, they'd have been more miffed if he had not attended, but that was old tradition in the Wizarding World: always a mess of contradictions and courtesy. So he had come, dressed soberly in robes of black and silver, the colors of ancestors that he and the grieving widow both shared. And they did look a great deal alike; despite the different color hair and eyes, no one could miss the Black family resemblance. There was just _something_ in the bones and blood that marked a Black, something Sirius had been trying to escape for most of his life.

Not far away, the bereaved son glared murderously in Sirius' direction—when he wasn't staring blankly at his father's grave. Severus Snape was the chosen speaker, of course (who could ask for a better friend?), but the boy clearly heard not a word. However, many of the others listened, some more uneasily than others.

James Potter especially.

"We gather today to mourn the passing of a wizard whose greatness will perhaps never be seen in the eyes of the world. Yet those who truly knew Lucius Caius Malfoy shall always admire his purity of blood, his purity of heritage, and his purity of _purpose_. No matter what happened, even in death, Lucius did not betray his beliefs, for he died fighting for a better world—a _nobler _world—than that which we know today."

Flashbulbs erupted from the back ranks of the mourners. Reporters from all news publications were present, though they were not permitted to intermingle with the actual guests. But Severus did not blink an eye. Dressed in his typical black silk, he stood composedly before the crowd, seemingly unaware—unlike everyone else in the crowd—that the Dark Lord was watching.

"Centuries from now, witches and wizards will not remember that we fought over principle. They will remember that martyrs like Lucius Malfoy fought to keep our traditions alive—and that witches and wizards who believed as he did _won_.

"This is what marks us as different. The loss of one so-called hero does not change what must be done. It only strengthens our resolve." A hard edge entered his voice. "And we will prevail."

James shivered as the crowd applauded, first politely and then with more enthusiasm. He could not bring himself to join in, no matter how _proper _doing so would be. Sirius, on the other hand, clapped politely, an ironic smile twitching at the corners of his mouth. He met James' eyes briefly, wiggled a mischievous eyebrow, and then returned his attention to Severus.

But James could not smile, and knew Lily, to his right, could not, either. No matter how hard they might have tried to look blasé and comfortable, the best either could manage was keeping their faces expressionless. Both were too well aware of the steel behind Snape's words—and James saw the red eyes watching the former Hogwarts Potions Master. Saw the smile on the pale face everyone tried to ignore. Saw the _satisfaction_.

_Whose side are you really on, Severus?_ James wanted to ask. But even had they been alone, James was not sure if he would have possessed the courage to pose the question. In fact, he wasn't sure if he wanted to know the answer at all. Sometimes, illusions were safer. But the next thought still came unbidden:

_Whose side have you _always _been on?_

Another cold chill traveled down his spine, watching Sirius nod courteously to the monster who had tortured him for ten years. Where had he gained such control? Sirius' hatred of Voldemort hadn't lessened at all—only a fool would think it had done anything but grow—but he was better at hiding it now. Wiser, perhaps. Voldemort nodded curtly in response, also seeming displeased with Sirius' carefree attitude, and James had to smile. Perhaps Sirius hadn't changed so much after all; he was still extremely skilled at getting under peoples' skin.

Yet even that fact did not save them from the next day's headline.

----------

_March 15th, 1993_

**THE NEW FACE OF DARKNESS**

_by_ Keith Lindsay, _Special Correspondent_

FIRST, he opened the gates of Hogwarts to He-Who-Must-Not-

Be-Named, betraying trust and tradition so thoroughly that it

shocked our world. Next, we saw him at the Ministry of Magic,

delivering iron-hard terms to late Minister of Magic Cornelius

Fudge. Most recently, we find him speaking at famous Death

Eater Lucius Malfoy's funeral. But who is this man who the world

must suddenly watch?

He is most certainly not the Severus Snape we have all known,

former despised Hogwarts professor and closet Death Eater.

No, this is not that man. This man, poised and confident, spoke

as a leader and not as a follower at Malfoy's funeral, even under

the eyes of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. He is no longer a

simple Death Eater, either, for there is something more now.

Snape is something more.

So what is he?

Lucius Malfoy was widely considered the closest companion of

He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, his right hand, his heir—if he had

one. But now Malfoy is dead, and Severus Snape appears to be

filling his place. He has stepped up very quickly, considering

that Malfoy was slain just two weeks ago yesterday. However,

Severus Snape left with widow Narcissa Malfoy on his arm. Is

there more to this, too, than meets the eye?

Only time will tell.

Only time and war.

----------

"I almost feel sorry for him," Ginny said quietly.

"I don't."

Hermione swallowed, pulling her knees tight up against her chest. The day was unusually warm for March, and she and Ginny sat underneath an old oak tree in the courtyard, accompanied by library books and none of the boys. Every now and then, they had to sneak away and just be themselves, maybe reading a little or just people-watching. Harry laughed and called it "girl time," and none of the other Misfits bothered Hermione and Ginny when they snuck away. Still, there was no enjoyment in Hermione's hard voice, now; she couldn't bring herself to be kind.

Ginny squeezed her arm. "I'm sorry."

"Me, too." Hermione swallowed. Perhaps she should feel a little pity for Draco Malfoy, who looked so lost as he wandered the courtyard, kicking at stray branches with his bodyguard in tow. He was a bloody prick in every possible way, but there was nothing to say that he hadn't loved his abominable father. Yet—

_His father helped kill my parents. _Draco _helped, whining to Daddy when he was angry with me. Should I feel sorry for him now?_

The pain had dulled after so many months, down to a quiet and persistent trickle that nonetheless didn't _stop_. But her anger hadn't faded, though in a horrible way, its edge had been blunted by Lucius Malfoy's death. She'd never tell anyone, though Hermione suspected that Ginny knew. Ginny knew her too well not to guess, and Ginny was the only one Hermione had ever talked to about her parents' murder. As close as she was to the other Misfits, this just wasn't the kind of thing one talked to Harry or Ron about.

"He doesn't look like he believes it," Ginny continued quietly. "Did you see him in the Great Hall earlier? Carrying on like nothing was wrong and he was king of the world." She snorted.

"Like nothing could touch him," Hermione finished.

"Exactly. Until you look at him now."

"I can't say I'm sorry for him," Hermione admitted. "But he does look lost. And maybe I should feel bad…but it's just too soon."

Ginny nodded slightly. "I know. And maybe it's wrong, but I can't help but think that maybe Draco got what he deserved. Maybe he'll finally learn that it hurts when people die."

"A bit too late to do me any good," Hermione had to blink back sudden tears, but she _wouldn't _cry. Not now.

"Yeah."

Hermione sucked in a shuddering breath to get control. "But maybe it can help someone else. Maybe next time he'll realize what he's doing."

Ginny squeezed her arm again. "It'll be all right. Somehow."

"I know." She squeezed her eyes shut, leaning her head back against the tree trunk. "Someday. But it still hurts."

"It always will."

Ginny wasn't the type to lie, wasn't the one to make things worse with useless platitudes. Hermione was grateful for that, almost as grateful as she was for someone who could listen and understand her pain. She closed her eyes tighter. She would not cry. Would not let the pain show where people like Draco Malfoy could see it. She was stronger than that.

--------

"Narcissa wants you dead, you know," Julia said two nights after the funeral. Perhaps decency should have kept her away longer, but she'd made her choices. _And so did Lucius._

Julia swallowed. She _did _miss her brother, missed him terribly. But she missed the man he used to be, the friend she'd grown up with and had once loved so much. Before power had come to mean everything to him, before even family had become less important than the pursuit of power. She'd watched that transition take place over the last year, had watched him ignore everything but his precious war. Yes, he'd saved her once…but the last time, he had abandoned his own creed to keep a hold of his power base.

_Family never walks away_.

He'd forgotten about that, and now he was gone. Now Narcissa and Draco were alone, all because of Lucius' stupid pride.

"I figured," Sirius replied after a moment. "Did she tell you so?"

"No, it was Severus. Narcissa no longer considers herself on speaking terms with me." Julia sighed. "Why?"

"Just curious."

Julia could not help shooting him a funny look; sometimes even she couldn't understand him, no matter how much she loved the man. But she did love him, so she added, frowning: "He did say something else."

"Oh?"

"That you were the Dark Lord's prey and to stay out of the way." Julia watched his expression closely, but the only change was a slight flickering of a smile on Sirius' lips.

"I thought as much," he replied contentedly.

"You're happy with that."

"Quite." The smile vanished. "That'll speed things up."

Suddenly, Julia felt cold. "You don't mean that."

"Of course I do. I'm impatient. I want this to end, and that won't happen if Voldemort and I dance around one another for the next decade."

"It's not a game, Sirius." _And I'm not losing you, too._

She'd go insane if that happened and Julia knew it. Overall, she was a person of simple loyalties—Julia chose her side, for better or for worse. Only once had she changed her mind before coming back, and she _knew _where she wanted to be. Years ago, she had chosen Sirius. Julia would do so a thousand times again, even knowing Lucius would die, though she hated thinking like that. But she didn't regret her choice, and wouldn't…unless she lost him, too.

"I never said it was." His voice softened slightly. "I'm not eager to fight him, Julia. I do know the risks. But _someone's _go to. And that someone is me."

She sighed. "I know. It's just…"

"Me, too." His voice was quiet again.

Julia smiled, and he smiled back, but both were bittersweet smiles that the world had battered down a bit. Not clinging to him when Sirius reached out and took her hand was hard, but Julia managed.

What she wouldn't give to have the old Sirius back, to see the carefree light fill his eyes, no matter how serious the situation. Once, he'd been more than a prankster—Sirius had been a morale booster, able to make all those around him smile and laugh. The same lighthearted personality still lurked beneath the surface, but the randomness of choice had placed a weight on his shoulders that no one had ever expected him to carry. Sirius bore the burden well—far better than anyone who didn't really know him would have expected—but it had still forced him to change. To harden. To lose a little bit of the teenage boy she'd fallen in love with.

No matter. She'd love him not matter what, but she did sometimes miss the old Sirius Black, and the exhilarating way he could sweep her off of her feet, making anything possible. And yet his smile widened, and a slight twinkle entered his eyes as Julia leaned close to him. He'd changed, yes—they both had—but not too much. Never too much.

---------

_March 15th, 1993_

**BLOOD AND HONOR**

_by_ Rita Skeeter, _Special Correspondent_

We al know the legends: the great storybook romances of a

noble pureblood wizard and a beautiful pureblood witch. In a

world as historied and as full of mysteries as our own is, such

stories are a thing of the past, remembered and cherished by all.

However, when the past and the present merge, one begins to

worry.

Black and Malfoy are two of the oldest names in the Wizarding

World, often intermarried and sometimes at war. Lately, the

latter has been the case, shown fifteen days ago when Sirius

Black slew Lucius Malfoy in a Diagon Alley duel. As sad of an

occurrence as that was, it's not unusual. During these last

twenty years of war, many have died, and there are no longer

so many purebloods to fulfill such legendary and romantic roles.

However, there is another Malfoy.

Julia Malfoy, the beautiful sister of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-

Named's former right hand. Rumor calls her a former Death

Eater herself, and such an allegation is hard to doubt in her

case. In fact, one would not be surprised if the mysterious

Finder of Things Long Lost was still a loyal and obedient follower

of the Dark Lord.

Family tradition is important to purebloods, after all. Especially

those of the Fourteen.

Then what of Sirius Black, purest of the pure? Everyone knows

he is a hero. Everyone knows which side he is on.

Don't we?

In days such as these, it's impossible to be sure of anything. So

although we "know" Sirius Black well, what do we really know

about him?

--We know he is head of the Fourteen Families, above even He-

Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.

--We know he is of the most antique bloodline, one of the few

pure ones left.

--And we know he loves a lady of the Malfoy family, just as one

of his blood should.

Old blood, old ways?

What if his sense of right and honor is not the same as ours?

What if he ascribes to a more ancient code, and he is not what

we think he is? What if we have been wrong all of this time, and

this impossibly storybook type love is the first sign?

---------

**Author's Note: **Here's the next chappie of PD, and things are finally winding down. I'm looking at somewhere around 45 chapters (maybe as many as 50) and shooting to be done before Book 7 comes out. Things have settled down now that I've moved out to San Diego, and I ought to be writing more consistently. So, please review and encougage me, and stay tuned for PD31!


	32. Chapter 31: That Which Follows

**Promises Defended

* * *

**

_Chapter Thirty-One: That Which Follows_

* * *

While some at Hogwarts grieved, others learned to heal. Remus watched both Malfoy and Jordan closely, knowing that the first was likely to snap into violence and the second liable to relapse and fear. But amazingly enough, as time passed, neither did so. The frequency at which Narcissa Malfoy sent her son packages and letters increased tenfold, but as far as Remus could tell, the gifts were innocent enough (and he certainly checked often). Miranda Jordan, on the other hand, was slowly learning about the Wizarding World, due mostly to a newfound acquaintance with Auriga Sinistra, who had befriended Lee's Muggle mother while Mrs. Jordan waited at Hogwarts for her son to heal.

The two children made an odd contrast for any headmaster to keep an eye on, but Remus had to admit that he watched Draco Malfoy far more closely than he did Lee Jordan. He did not, however, do so because he believed that the young Slytherin had anything dangerous in mind—rather, he worried about the proud boy who had just lost his father and idol. Lee Jordan had good friends, loyal friends, who would watch out for him. Draco Malfoy had hangers-on, and that wasn't the same at all.

Without Severus at Hogwarts, the problem was multiplied. Remus' former deputy understood the workings of Slytherin House far better than his pupils would have guessed, and he headed off dozens of minor issues before they could become problems. But Plumpton wasn't exactly the most inspired choice Remus could have made to replace Severus; he had just been the only one available. No one else wanted a job that had been so prominently filled by a Death Eater for so many years. Not with the children in _that _House.

Unfortunately, Plumpton was too dense to care anything about what the public thought, and not only were follies that might have been amusing at another time proving to be a liability in the current situation, but he hadn't the first inkling of a clue what was going on within his own common rooms. Ted Tonks could shepherd Jordan through the healing process. Remus would focus on Malfoy.

Besides, he had a feeling that the obnoxious little Slytherin needed more help than Lee Jordan ever would.

"Headmaster?"

Ted stood in the doorway, his brow creased slightly with concern. Obviously, he'd been there for several moments, and had probably been knocking for some time before that. Remus smiled sheepishly and beckoned the other wizard in.

"How many times do I have to ask you to call me Remus?" he asked lightly.

"At least one more," Ted replied with a grin. He was a good deputy headmaster if still a bit stiff; Remus knew Ted was still getting used to the role. Working with him was different from working with Severus, and Remus suspected that Ted would never acquire the ease or familiarity he and Severus had grown into over the years.

Still, Remus liked Ted a great deal, and couldn't think of someone he would have rathered replace Severus. _Even if I do miss Severus' surly and sarcastic outlook from time to time._ He just wished that Ted would drop a few formalities, even if it was only every now and then.

"Come in, Ted. Please don't just stand there like it's some sort of doorstep."

Ted chuckled. "Sorry. I did want to tell you that the painter is here again, though."

"Is she?"

"Yup." Ted arranged himself in his favorite chair across from Remus' desk; for some reason, he always chose the green one, which drove Plumpton mad. "But don't get up. She's quite happy puttering around the Great Hall, measuring out where the painting will go and talking to the other portraits around the castle about the environment, which frame she should use, and other painter-like things."

Remus chuckled. "And I suppose she'll be quite miffed if I interrupt her, won't she?"

"Likely."

"The students aren't bothering her, are they?" he had to ask.

"Nope. Giving her strange looks from time to time, but nothing I'd call bothering. Not as far as she'd notice, anyway. Quite absorbed."

"She gets like that," Remus replied dryly, remembering Circe's single-minded focus from a week before.

"What do you have her painting, anyway?"

"Oh." Remus blinked. "You'll see."

Ted shrugged nonchalantly, but Remus was surprised at his own sudden desire to keep the painting secret. There was no reason to, after all—but he _wanted _to. Remus didn't even want to see the painting until it was completed. Didn't want to know. Perhaps he liked mystery, or maybe he was just eccentric. Either way, Remus was content to wait.

"So," he finally asked to take his mind off of the painting. "What have our darling Misfits gotten into today?"

-----------

She was always a terror when angry, but especially so now that she was forbidden to vent her frustrations upon Azkaban's prisoners. Bellatrix's temper tantrums were epic, always including broken property, injuries, and general destruction. Unlike most people, her ability to control her temper had decreased with age, though Narcissa _was _forced to deal with it a lot less often ever since she'd moved out of their parents' home. (Bella still owned the house, technically, or would have if the Ministry hadn't tried to confiscate it years ago. Not that they'd been able to find the Unplottable manor outside of London. But they'd tried.)

At the moment, however, she was just glad to see that Bella was calming down. The drawing room had been abused enough for one day; the House Elves would spend hours cleaning _this _mess up.

Bella finally slumped into a chair. "I can't believe it, Cissy. I just can't believe it."

Narcissa sighed. As much as she loved her sister, she was not blind to Bellatrix's failings, and this was definitely one of them.

"It should not come as much of a surprise, Bella," she pointed out. "He's been building up to this for some time."

"But to say it _aloud_—" Another vase shattered; Narcissa was glad she'd cleared the room of the more priceless antiquities before inviting her sister over.

"Is to remove all doubt. Aren't you the one who always says indecisiveness will finish us far quicker than the Aurors could ever hope to?"

"This is not the same."

"How is it not?" she countered. "What did you hope to gain? Surely not his position."

"I? Never." Bella snorted. "I am above the power plays of my inferiors. I live to serve my Lord, no more, no less."

"Then why do you object?"

"Because _he _is not the Dark Lord. He is not the man who has built our brotherhood bit by painful bit. _He _is not worthy. No one is."

"Yet he's closer than all others, wouldn't you agree?" Narcissa sipped her tea, trying not to think about the _other _wizard who had been close to that coveted position of the Dark Lord's heir. Of the man who had been so brilliant that he outshone every one of the worthless worms who groveled and complained, jockeying for position and clawing for power. Her throat constricted painfully, and Narcissa had to close her eyes for a moment to push the pain aside.

Bella, of course, was too caught up in the moment to notice.

"Closer, but not even near on to close _enough_. Severus is overly sentimental."

Now was Narcissa's turn to snort. "Severus? Sentimental? Bella, either you are blinded by anger or you're far less observant than I have spent a lifetime believing you are."

"Only a soft fool takes pity upon our Lord's prisoners and actively protects them," Bella shot back.

"And only an idiot thinks he does so for altruistic reasons. Severus understands what those prisoners are worth in the long run, and killing them indiscriminately is a waste."

"Of what? Not one of them will matter when we win the war."

Suddenly on her feet, Bellatrix resumed her furious pacing. Narcissa tried not to roll her eyes and kept her voice level.

"And then you can kill all you want," she replied disdainfully. If there was one ironclad difference between these sisters, it was that Bellatrix's more gruesome amusements did not sit well with Narcissa. A Cruciatus Curse now and then was satisfying, but the blood and physical injuries Bella reveled in made Narcissa a tad queasy. "When the war is over."

"You're defending him."

"Of course I am. I happen to agree with Severus."

Bella twisted to face her, grinning mockingly. "So soon after your husband's death?"

"Lucius' death does _not_ change my beliefs, Bellatrix." Narcissa rose angrily, but her voice remained cold. "Now, if _you_ wish to insult his memory, you know the way to the door."

"No, I don't." For a moment, she thought Bella might say something else, but then she relented. Just enough. Just like she always had. "I'm sorry, Cissy. I'm just angry."

"I couldn't tell."

"But don't you agree—"

"No. I do not. I believe that it is high time our Lord chose an heir, and I can find no better wizard than Severus Snape. He will uphold our way of life and our beliefs many years into the future, and his courage is already proven."

"Already—" Bella choked off in disgust. "He has slinked in the shadows for fifteen years, never daring to openly serve our Lord! He—"

"Do stop." Narcissa sank back into her comfortable silk chair, wishing she had not lost control and stood in the first place. "Don't be unreasonable. Until this year past, most Death Eaters have not dared, as you say, to serve the Dark Lord openly. We have had positions to maintain, images to uphold. If your criteria were to be met, you would be the only one worthy of being his heir. Do you desire such power?"

"Of course not! I live to _serve_ him. I would never dare try to _become_ him."

Narcissa folded her hands. "And?"

"And nothing." Bellatrix scowled. "You're impossible."

She smiled thinly in response, despising the power plays Bella delighted in, despite her protests. Narcissa was proud of being a Death Eater, believed in their cause, yet the politics of serving the Dark Lord often sickened her. It was a strange reaction for a daughter of such an ancient family, yet she'd always wished that those who deserved status and recognition could simply receive it without having to fight for their positions. The effort was such a waste.

-----------

"Ladies and gentlemen, I have good news." James' eyes swept the faces of his assembled department heads. He was quite satisfied with the people looking back at him; these were _his _ministers. His choices. No nominations came from political necessity this time. No one had gained a position through personal empire building. They were all competent people. Smart people. The type James should have chosen the first time around, and would have if he'd been experienced enough. If he hadn't thought compromise the route of wisdom. He grinned, feeling better than he had in months, maybe.

"Fudge has been found."

_Even the small victories count._

Vicious smiles greeted the news. "Where?" Alice Longbottom demanded, standing in for Sirius. _As usual._

James wasn't sure where Sirius had gone, but he was sure that Sirius had a reason to be gone…or at least hoped he did. Recently, Sirius had reverted to more of his old self, to the man he'd been way back before Azkaban. The change was unsettling in some ways—James had grown used to the darker version of his friend. He'd started to forget how impulsive and irrational Sirius could seem. He always had a reason, but Sirius could be…different. Still, James smiled in response to the question.

"Switzerland. Operatives from the Society of Ariake found him last night."

"Where was he?" Amos Diggory asked.

"Hiding, of course," James replied. "Poorly disguised as a traveling broom salesman."

Grace Canning, the new Minister of Magical Games and Sports, snorted. "Fudge doesn't know the first thing about brooms."

"Which explains how he got caught," Alice pointed out dryly. "Probably didn't know the difference between a Nimbus 2000 and a Shooting Star 2."

Everyone chuckled. Odds were that Alice Longbottom, a Quidditch non-follower if there ever had been one, couldn't tell the difference, either, but at least she wasn't pretending to.

"But the real question now is what we do with him," Arthur pointed out after a few moments. "What is he _really _guilty of, aside from gross incompetence?"

"Treason," Bode growled. "Collaboration with Voldemort." Heads nodded around the table, but James sighed.

"A good lawyer could get him off easily." Angry eyes turned on him, now. "While I agree that Fudge completely circumvented several laws to keep himself in power, most people would just take that as political maneuvering. Minsters of Magic have done worse in the past.

"You're saying that you _won't _try him?" Canning demanded.

"No. Just that we can't afford to do so until we can prove that he actively collaborated with Voldemort." James met her angry gaze levelly. "Umbridge could have provided proof, but she's dead. Now there's no one else who can incriminate Fudge except himself, and that's the one and only thing that idiot won't do."

"You can say that again," Alice muttered darkly. "Never met someone better at self-preservation."

"So you're going to let him go." Canning's voice was flat. More disappointed than furious, but dead defeated.

"Not in the slightest. We can certainly scrape up enough charges for the mean time, and I think we can consider him a flight risk, don't you?"

"That won't keep him."

"No. But at least it will give us time to maneuver." James sighed. "I wish I had a better answer, but I don't. Not right now."

Everyone nodded, except for Bode, who just stared blankly at James. After several unnerving seconds, the Unspeakable spoke. "There is one other problem with holding him."

"What's that?"

"It makes him a fairly easy assassination target. Voldemort could easily have it done and blame you," Bode replied bluntly.

"_And _swing public support to his side. Again," Diggory pointed out morosely.

"If James wanted Fudge dead, he'd just use wartime powers to execute him," Arthur objected. "People know that."

"Yes, but that's not precisely legal, either—and it would give him an advantage," Diggory countered.

"Except—" Arthur never got a chance to finish.

"Except that Fudge dying in jail is the least of our concerns," James cut him off. "As callous as it is to say, even if that _does _happen, we've got larger problems to worry about. Let Voldemort play his games. I'm going to concentrate on winning the war."

-----------

"This. Sucks. A. Lot." Tonks collapsed into the chair, breathing hard. A long moment passed before she could catch her breath enough to gasp: "I thought that the instructors had it easy!"

"There's the problem. Thinking. You." Bill managed, groaning from his position on the couch. Of course, the fact that he was face down muffled his voice a tad, but he was confident that Tonks would understand. She always did.

"It's not usually so bad," Frank, ever the logical and inexhaustible, put in. _He _was sitting in a more dignified manner, despite having walked in only seconds before his two younger instructors. "But this being the last few weeks of Candidate Class 4905—which is half again as large as usual because of the French Candidates—and the first week for classes 4906 and 4907 does make it a bit exciting."

"Exhausting, you mean," Tonks replied dryly.

"That, too."

But things were _working_. They had over fifty candidates here on the island, even if they were short on instructors. Would-be Aurors had arrived from four different nations just as their elder counterparts had shown up to help train and augment the Aurors' own numbers. The change should have taken place years ago, but no one had been willing…until Voldemort had started reaching out to attack other countries. Other Aurors' governments. _Has he bitten off more than he can chew?_ Bill didn't dare ask the question aloud. Doing so might jinx everything.

But still…maybe they had a chance. Just a little one.

"So. Now for the good news." Frank grinned at Bill and Tonks, his eyes dancing. "Jean will arrive tomorrow with six more candidates for forty-nine-oh-seven…and the applications for forty-nine-oh-eight are pouring in already. Even a few from America."

"The lazy bastards have finally noticed that we're at war, huh?" Tonks rolled her eyes.

Bill sighed, sitting up as Frank snorted in response to Tonks' question. It just wasn't worth answering. "How long do we have?"

"How long for what?" Frank couldn't _possibly _look less innocent asking that question.

"How long until we form up 4908?" _How long before I die of exhaustion, more like. _But Bill wasn't really that exhausted. Just chafing at having to stay on Avalon and train the new puppies.

"Probably a month. Maybe two. Either way, we'll have more instructors by then."

"Either way, the war might already be over," Tonks put in quietly. "Not to be overly optimistic—or overly pessimistic—but I'm not sure how much longer we can keep this pace up. And I don't just mean the Aurors."

"Yeah." Frank's slim smile faded down to nothingness, and Bill knew exactly what he was thinking. Once the adrenaline rush of getting James Potter back into office wore off, the entire Wizarding world was going to stop and look at what the war was costing. They'd been ready to make peace at almost any price under Fudge…could James swing them away from that, despite the cost? The list of the dead just kept piling up.

-----------

The unexpected note turned up on the desk of a very unimportant secretary—so unimportant that she ignored it for five days before suddenly noticing the growing "tea stain" that directed her to give the note to Lily Potter. By then, it was March 25th, and she had unknowingly cost the Ministry valuable time. Confused, she delivered the blank (aside from the tea stain) piece of paper. Lily laughed, thanked her, and assured the innocent Secretary to the Deputy Assistant Director of the Muggle-Worthy Excuse Committee that it was only a prank. Probably sent from Hogwarts by young Harry Potter, in fact. Completely harmless.

The moment the secretary was gone, Lily cleared James' schedule for the rest of the day and slipped from her office into her husband's.

"James, Helena Rabnott received an anonymous letter three days ago," she announced without preamble. He looked up, brow creased in confusion.

"Who?"

"Helena Rabnott. She's secretary to the Deputy Assistant Director of the Muggle-Worthy Excuse Committee. I didn't know her, either."

"Okay…?"

"Here's the note." Lily handed it over, without bothering to explain. James could read, after all. "I told her that it was some prank Harry pulled—all she saw was the tea stain."

"Dare I ask?"

"Read it."

James' eyes went wide almost immediately; Lily had already seen the words and did not need—_want_—to read them again. She already felt horribly sick inside. She'd already memorized the words, but that wasn't the worst part. The worst part was that there was no time to verify if it was a trap or not—she couldn't be sure if she recognized the handwriting or not. Either way, they were almost out of time.

_St._ _Mungo's._ _March 27th. Get them out._

------------

* * *

The Other Author's Note: Posted in honor of the **Fourth Birthday of the Unbroken Universe! **Please do review and say Happy Birthday to the UU (letting me know what you think of the chapter is a bonus today.) Until next time! 


	33. Chapter 32: The Turning Point

**Promises Defended

* * *

**

_Chapter Thirty-Two: The Turning Point_

* * *

There was no way, no failsafe method at all, to ensure that Voldemort would not get at least _some _of them. No matter what the Aurors did, there would be too much ground to cover and too many people to protect. It was one of their nightmare scenarios, the situation they had trained to deal with repeatedly over the last forty-plus years. After all, Wizarding Britain had been burned in the same place by a Dark Lord once before. They were not about to allow that to happen a second time.

Which was precisely why the Auror Division had trained to defend St. Mungo's ever since that horrendous Christmas in 1937, when every worker, patient, and visitor had been slain by Dietfried Grindelwald in a fantastic demonstration of personal power. Years had been spent dreaming up the perfect counter for _any _attack, and the past decade had been dedicated to countering Voldemort if he ever even thought about the hospital. _At least we know that he's not very likely to use the same method the last Dark Lord employed, _Sirius thought to himself. _They're not much alike._

Yet he was fairly sure that this defense would have worked against Grindelwald, too, as wily as the old Dark Lord was. The only real weakness was that Severus Snape knew of their primary counter…but Remus swore that Severus was still on their side. Was still loyal, despite what his role as a spy had "forced" him to do. Sirius sighed. _You'd better be right, Remus._

_Or we're likely to _all _end_ _up dead._

-----------

"I will coordinate the wards, My Lord," Severus volunteered quietly, standing slightly to Voldemort's left. The Death Eaters were assembling rapidly, without the usual muttering complaints. Were they frightened or were they confident?

"No." The Dark Lord's flat reply startled him, but Severus kept his face expressionless.

"My Lord?"

"I said no. Olive Hornby will coordinate the placing of Anti-Apparation wards."

For a moment, Severus gaped, loosing his ironclad self-control. "My—yes, My Lord."

Yet it wasn't all right. Olive Hornby was a talented witch and a dedicated Death Eater, but she was far from a defensive expert. _I couldn't think of someone more…average if I tried. _She wasn't the worst choice, but she was far from the best.

Suddenly, he noticed that the red eyes were watching him closely. Severus' mouth went dry as the other spoke mildly: "You disagree."

_Never hesitate. _Lucius had told him that on his third day as a Death Eater. "Yes, My Lord." _Continue intellectually. Demonstrate that you can use your head under pressure._ "Hornby has little experience in such spells."

"Whereas you specialize in _defensive _magic?"

_Don't look back. Humility rarely suits power._

"I do not. But I am very practiced, My Lord."

A low chuckle. "I imagine so. Nevertheless, Hornby _will _succeed or will pay the price."

There was nothing to do save agree, so Severus did. Yet he did not forget the conversation. Refused to. Something was not right.

-----------

There were constraints. Ones that had Sirius muttering darkly about more than just how fast this mission had been laid on.

"It's not _that _bad," Bill tried to tell him. Bill was his deputy for this mission, not because Alice and Frank were unavailable (because they weren't), but because he was the best wizard for the job. Sirius snorted in response.

"How is it _not_?"

"Well…"

Sirius snorted again. Rolled his eyes. It _was _that bad. Through and through.

First (and most importantly, so far as Sirius was concerned) was that they had to avoid destroying any of the buildings. _Or even seriously damaging them,_ he thought with a grimace. It would have been far more simple to just blow the bloody hospital up with the Death Eaters inside…but that was why Bill was along. Bill specialized in mazes and unique locations. Yet—there were other problems. That the place was damn near indefensible was certainly high on Sirius' list. St. Mungo's was a _hospital, _for Merlin's sake, not designed as a fortress or even a moderately-accessible battleground. The place might as well have been built by Muggles. Magical reinforcement (beyond regular maintenance on the old building) just hadn't been bothered with, and there was hardly a ward in place, despite what Grindelwald had done decades ago. _You'd think they would learn._

"It's not _that_ bad." Bill repeated. He must have seen the look on Sirius' face.

"Oh, really? I challenge you again to tell me how it isn't."

"We have more warning than we did when Grindelwald struck. There aren't innocent people inside."

Sirius heaved a sigh. "True."

"And that means you can wreak havoc to your heart's consent," Bill added, reading his mind again and displaying a wicked grin. "We can always fix the place later."

"Financed by who? I'm a Black, but I'm not _that _rich."

"Sure you aren't."

"Shut up."

Bill snickered, and Sirius smiled despite himself. But the devilish glint faded abruptly from the other Auror's eyes, and his voice grew serious. "I've got one other 'good' thing for you."

"What's that?"

"Voldemort must be getting desperate if he's reusing someone else's methods."

-----------

Usually, Voldemort strode in at the front of his followers, confident that there wasn't anything or any_one_ in the Wizarding World that could stop him. Today, he allowed most of the others to precede him, and Severus had a feeling that he'd been manipulated into suggesting it.

Yet staying towards the rear felt strange. Those few times Severus' role as a spy allowed him to participate in a mass assault, he'd always been one of the front runners, slipping in and out of the other side's defenses. He was _good _at that, supremely at home when disassembling wards, attack spells, and defenders. Yet his job was different, now. Just two months ago, Lucius Malfoy would have walked where he was walking. Would have been at Voldemort's right hand—unsettling how he felt both more and less comfortable now that he was there.

-----------

Someone squeaked. Sirius figured it was one of the new generation, but most of them had been forged in too hot of a fire to flinch away from the massive onslaught of Death Eaters. Every Auror felt a healthy dose of fear, of course, but fear kept you alive in moments like these. Fear kept you _sane._ That aside, it really didn't matter who had squeaked—the moment had come, and that was enough. Either way, there were a _lot _of Death Eaters.

The quickly assembled map on the atrium wall showed that nearly one hundred of Voldemort's followers had already flooded into the hospital; their names clumped together like half-melted chocolate drops. Yet the one Sirius half-hoped would lead the charge was far to the rear.

_It won't be today, then_, he realized, half relieved and almost disappointed. Slow, deep breath. _That does simplify matters._

"Let them come," he said softly, reminding the others as they shifted slightly. Being nervous was human, and the Aurors had not expected so many. They were significantly outnumbered, even with the addition of other nations' Aurors.

"Last group passing me now." The Muggle "walkie-talkie" in his hand crackled with Bill's voice.

It took Sirius a moment to remember which button to press. _The least the Muggles could do is label the things!_ "Right. It should be about ten minutes, then."

"We'll be ready."

"Good." He nodded to himself and then turned to Alice, smiling hungrily. "Time to move."

-----------

Something wasn't right. Every nerve in Severus' body screamed that this was _wrong_, bad, a mistake. Muscles tingled, and the evolutionarily-imbedded _fight or flee _response made his heart pound faster and faster.

_Get out of here!_

He stopped cold, earning several strange looks from the Death Eaters in his vicinity. But Voldemort only arched one eyebrow, waiting patiently—Severus' chest grew tight. He had to concentrate to breathe evenly, but he had not the attention span.

"It's a trap."

The words were hardly out of his mouth when all hell broke loose.

Explosions front and back—stronger behind them and louder to the right. Instinct battled against fear; fear wanted to bolt forward and away from a quickly-closing—

_Fireball_.

He could feel the heat on his back. Someone screamed. Death Eaters ducked desperately, and even Voldemort surged forward with the rest, eager to escape the oncoming danger. But Severus was rooted to the spot, frozen. He could feel the oxygen rushing from the corridor, the heat suffocating him, burning, melting, scarring—

"Severus, come on!" Narcissa, her voice a little high but in control. How nice of her to notice him. Paint was peeling off the walls. The other Death Eaters were growing smaller and smaller in the distance—he was _burning_—

_Contain yourself! _Narcissa yelled for him again, but he did not notice. Severus wasn't really burning. His robes weren't even smoking, even though his mask _felt _welded to his face. He had to stop and think. Understand. He'd said it.

It _was _a trap.

"Stop!"

The fireball was practically on top of him by the time Severus moved forward, chasing the others. His mind was racing to catch up with intuition and still falling behind, but he knew they were only headed deeper into the trap. However, fear and danger drove the Death Eaters forward—_forward into what?_ The situation had Sirius Black's fingerprints all over the place. Despite the heat, Severus felt cold. So cold. He shouted again:

"Stop, damn you!"

Rarely was Severus distraught enough to swear, but the situation certainly qualified. He managed to grab Voldemort and Narcissa at the same time, throwing his entire body weight backwards to make them stop. Thankfully, the rearmost command group was moving slower than the rest of the mob. Even afraid, they were more cautious…but not cautious enough.

"It's a trap!" he bellowed over the explosions. "They're driving us forward!"

Perhaps twenty Death Eaters halted to stare at him. Severus regained his composure, more from force of habit than any other reason. "We have to leave. Immediately."

Red eyes studied him for an intense moment. "Are you certain?"

"Yes." He was slightly out of breath and did not like the feeling. "The fireball is not real. I wager that the explosions are also an illusion, designed to push us in. We need to break out of the snare before it closes."

Bellatrix frowned. "You cannot craft illusions on so many levels—they must be real."

"Yes, you can." It was Voldemort, his face composed. "We leave."

Severus could breathe again.

"And the others?" Rodolphus asked.

Shouts and spells were drifting back to them now, even over the explosions. The battle had been joined, and it sounded panicked. _Lost._ Suddenly, Severus was glad that Hornby had led the others, eager to do so in an undisguised bid for additional favor. _Fools always prove themselves to be what they are._

"Send the signal to escape when necessary," the Dark Lord instructed Severus, ignoring Rodolphus' question.

"We could still win!" Bellatrix objected. "My Lord, let us approach from above or below, and—"

"No."

Severus sent the signal, watched the green disk sail off of the end of his wand and speed into the distance. Somehow, he doubted many would notice, but they had a chance, now. That was good enough. Those who mattered most had fallen to the back in the beginning, letting Hornby make her play. Either she would succeed and join their ranks, or she would fail and die… Initially, these ranking Death Eaters had intended to stay out of the way so she could damn herself. Now they would survive.

Severus did not even want to comprehend the magnitude of what that meant. Or what it _didn't_.

"To Azkaban," Voldemort commanded, and they all raised their wands.

Nothing happened.

-----------

Darkness was his friend. Bill had masterfully designed the illusions and Alice had handled the mirror spells to perfection. The latter was one of the Unicorn Group's original projects, thought nifty but rather useless until the Death Eaters had obligingly walked into defenses the Aurors had time to work up in advance. A simple reflective spell combined with a defensive shield could create all kinds of havoc within the mind, and the Aurors had taken full advantage of that. Furthermore, simple _darkness_ made spell-casting and spell-aiming difficult. There were, of course, plenty of spells to let one see in the dark; wand effects like _lumos_ were just the easiest to cast. But the Aurors had carefully blocked out each and every one of _those_ after casting their own See-In-The-Dark Charms.

The See-In-The-Dark Charms allowed each Auror to make out friend versus foe, even to see faces in the pitch blackness. More importantly, the higher level of the charm (as opposed to the simplistic version taught to Hogwarts' seventh years) factored in ambient lighting as well, so that the Aurors did not lose their night vision when the bright lights of spells flashed across the room. The opposite was true for the Death Eaters, however. The only light they saw were the brilliant blazes and sparks of deadly and dangerous magic arching back and forth. More than one of the Death Eaters was already night-blind, seeing flashes of light were there weren't (and sometimes where there were), hopelessly confused and owning a splitting headache.

Sirius had no such problems. Nor was he hurriedly casting spells like the other Aurors (half of which were assigned to attack the Death Eaters, while the other half simply set off random bright lights and maintained the Anti-Apparation wards). His job was more supervisory today, which was slightly boring but had been designed to leave him free in case Voldemort had been caught in their trap.

No such luck, that.

The Death Eaters were desperately confused now. Sirius had seen the bug-out signal fly into the atrium, but very few of the enemy had; even fewer had tried to respond. The Anti-Apparation wards might as well not even have been up for all the use they'd gotten. _Don't get cocky, Sirius. There are still a _lot _of Death Eaters out there._ He had to smile. _Even if half of them are on the floor._

No one was officially keeping score, but Sirius knew that this one would go down in the history books as a victory for the good guys. His people had been outnumbered by almost three-to-one, and they were going to win. Gigantically.

He flicked his wand, and the ceiling went red, then blue, and then red again. Immediately, Aurors began withdrawing to their initial hiding spots, areas of relative safety from wild spells and the like. Each had shielded their own "hole," and Sirius waited until every one of his people was hidden. It took less than three minutes.

He cast a _Sonorus _charm and raised his voice.

"Attention Death Eaters…"

-----------

Azkaban was very quiet, for even Dementors know to flee the Dark Lord's wrath.

Death Eaters, unfortunately, are not usually so lucky. Nor do they have so many options for escape, _especially _when Voldemort's temper was running high. Accordingly, most—even Bellatrix—backed as far away from him as possible, all the while attempting to look as if they were engaged in serious conversation. As if they could _possibly _be accomplishing something _useful._

_Then again, most of them are simply searching for _anyone _other than themselves to be his first target. They are waiting for the inevitable backlash._

So was Severus, truth be told. But he knew that the best way to escape becoming a target _was _to produce useful information, or at least to act as a sounding board. Attempted escape would only make Voldemort angrier; courage usually won his grudging respect. _And what the fools don't comprehend is that if he's going to lash out, the pain is inevitable. Best to just get it over with._ After all, he had plenty of experience with pain.

"Seventy-six left were behind, My Lord," Severus informed his Master quietly, having done the count twice. "Twenty-three of us are here."

There was no response. Storm clouds were gathering behind the red eyes.

"Assuming no one further escapes the trap, the Aurors have effectively cut our strength by three-quarters," he continued dispassionately. "What they will do with those they capture—assuming they bother to do so—I do not know. Without Azkaban as a holding area, their resources will be severely stretched."

"Do you think they will kill them, then?" Voldemort's voice was oddly cool. Calculating.

"No," Severus replied honestly. "Although I believe that James Potter possesses the intestinal fortitude—and the confidence of _this _government—to do so, I do not think they will dare. Instead, they will try to hold all they can, which will work to our advantage. Some are certain to escape."

"Pity," was the quiet response. "In death, they might have proven useful."

-----------

Avalon turned out to be the answer. James hadn't liked it one bit (nor had Sirius, but the wizard who made the call had little right to complain), but it had been the only solution. There hadn't been another location that was secure enough; anywhere else, their more resourceful prisoners would have been able to escape. Eventually.

But not Avalon. Not the Aurors' island.

So they'd converted the old boathouse into a prison, quick and dirty. It was nowhere near as high security as Azkaban had once been; individual cells were nonexistent and the wards were hurriedly applied. Yet a force of twenty Aurors (from multiple nations) could build a prison with amazing speed, and they had. The sixty-one prisoners had been herded into six holding cells, each of which had been layered repeatedly with wards and would be guarded twenty-four hours a day. The system was not nearly so efficient as Azkaban's…but it would have to do. Worst case, a group of ten prisoners would break out—and find themselves stuck on an island full of Aurors that they could not Apparate away from.

Especially without wands. For security's sake, the wands were all being kept in a vault at the Ministry of Magic, sealed there by an Unspeakable whose identity was kept from the Aurors. They weren't taking any chances. Not this time.

The headlines had already been made. Even Skeeter couldn't make this one look bad, no matter how hard she tried. As far as Sirius knew, the Aurors had captured more dark wizards than had ever been captured together—_and _they'd killed fifteen during the battle itself. Reconstruction wizards were already putting St. Mungo's back together again, too, though they'd also managed not to destroy too much of the hospital. All in all, it had been a good day.

"But not," Sirius breathed to himself, "as good as it might have been."

He lowered himself into one of his quarters' extravagantly comfortable chairs and sighed. He'd never expected a total victory, but he had hoped to catch Voldemort in the trap. Somehow.

Then again, the image of Voldemort locked behind bars was slightly mind-boggling. It would never happen—that, Sirius was sure of. Any other Death Eater he could picture as a prisoner…but not Voldemort. Not the Dark Lord himself. He'd never suffer to be a prisoner, and Sirius didn't think there'd yet been invented a prison that could hold him. No, he'd live or die. _Win_ or die.

Sirius shivered. He'd known what the end would be for a long time, and yet moments like this always put it in black and white. And yet…he no longer feared that final battle. Come what may, this was a turning point. The Aurors had finally put themselves on top.

------------

* * *

The Other Author's Note: If there is any one chapter where the cycle towards the end actually begins, this is it. However, the questions keep adding up, don't they? Let me know what you think, and which side Snape really is on. Believe me—you'll be in for some surprises on that count! 


	34. Chapter 33:One Road Ends, Another Begins

Promises Defended

Chapter Thirty-Three: One Road Ends, Another Begins

"Crucio." _The voice was almost too level to be angry, almost too cold—yet the fury was palatable, more felt than heard. It vibrated._

_The screams hardly seemed important in comparison. Who cared for a traitor? Even though _this _one had not been expected. Odd for two accomplished Legilimens to be deceived, but it was possible. If there was anything he had learned over the years, it was that anything was possible. Even the most powerful wizards could miss the most obvious signs. This one had been lucky in addition to being traitorous. Which meant that he no longer mattered, save as an outlet for the fury and a useful example. Caboun had been a new enough addition to the ranks that few would notice his absence, in the end._

_Who cared, indeed._

_He held the curse. No use releasing the traitor—oh, it _could _be deemed a merciful act, at a stretch, but he did not care. Death was what mattered. Death well earned._

Fools. Look at them tremble.

_And the others did. Oh, they did. _Even those who ought know better. _They stared with wide eyes as their Lord dealt justice to the deserving traitor. Rarely did he cast the curse himself. He had others for that._

_But this time…this time there was a point to be proven. And fear was useful. Even Bellatrix was wary, he noticed. It was well that she remembered that no one was untouchable, even she who had served the Dark Lord so well in so many ways. _Good. _He valued loyalty, but subservience mattered more at times. _Except for one.

_There he stood, face expressionless. Watching and calculating, as always. Probably wondering how a traitor could deceive them both. A worthy question to lurk behind the black eyes that dispassionately watched Caboun's every twitch and jerk. Perhaps Severus had a theory. He often did._

_Caboun_ _had stopped screaming during his reverie. _Pity. _He poured power into the curse and the traitor yowled again. He smiled slightly. There was nothing like death to remind the fools that—_

Sirius' eyes flew open. Without thinking, he was on his feet, barefoot on the thick carpet of his quarters at Avalon. He'd been reading and must have drifted off—

And he'd watched a man die. Mostly, anyway. Sirius was quite certain that Caboun was dying _now_—if he had Apparated to Azkaban in that instant, he would see him die. _Soon._ Voldemort's bloodthirsty satisfaction still coursed through his bones, lingering as if it were Sirius' own. He let out a breath he'd not known he'd been holding.

_I guess that the connection will never vanish, really._ He shivered, but not badly. He was used to the idea, now, and grateful that the vision—_memory? Visual?_—did not linger now that he was awake. It was one thing to unconsciously tune into Voldemort when he was sleeping; doing so when awake was yet another. And yet—there was no pressure, no fury, no attack. Sirius suddenly felt giddy. _He didn't notice! He couldn't have!_

Small victories often meant the most. And this one—this one mattered more as he digested the information. Whoever the leak had been, Sirius was quite certain that Caboun had _not _been the one to warn the Ministry about St. Mungo's. Whoever had done that was still safe.

And Sirius' soul was still his own. Perhaps now more than ever.

He lifted the book again, and studied power.

-----------

Sometimes it was too easy.

Remus didn't even need the Font to find them; his own skills would have made doing so easy enough. Listening for badly-concealed laughter with his enhanced hearing could have led him to the Room of Requirement, though he did admit that his Font-induced relationship with Hogwarts made finding the Room a lot faster. _And I do know several things that the Misfits would never _imagine_, thanks to the Font. _He smiled to himself, watching Hermione and Lee Jordan gang up on the Weasley twins.

What the Misfits clearly didn't realize was that the Room of Requirement could simultaneously serve two different purposes—even if one of those objectives was to spy on the other. To be fair, Remus hadn't known that either, until now, but he wasn't above taking advantage of such knowledge when he had it. Pressed up against a convenient eye hole, he could catch snatches of their conversation and struggled not to laugh as Harry and Ron both joined in on Lee and Hermione's side. Obviously, Remus had wandered up in the midst of a heated debate over which prank to play this evening.

He was curious about the prank but had other matters to concentrate on. Instead of listening, Remus let his eyes focus on Lee Jordan's face. The dark-skinned teen was smiling, giving as good as he got and then some.

Remus hadn't expected him to heal so fast. Yes, there were still shadows in his eyes, though the memories would fade somewhat with time. So would the scars—at least the outer ones—but Remus had not even hoped to see him come so far, so fast. For a moment, he wondered if Lee really was just that spectacular of an actor…but no. _Yet again, I underestimated the healing power of friendship. _He smiled wryly to himself. _I, who should appreciate that better than anyone else. _

"You've got to be kidding if you think we're going to do _that_," Hermione snorted, pointing an accusing finger at George. "Professor Lupin would recognize it in an instant—"

"But the Map _told _us to," George whined convincingly.

"Would you jump off of the Astronomy Tower roof if the Map told you to?" she retorted.

The twins exchanged a look. "Probably."

"You're idiots, both of you." Harry rolled his eyes. "Complete imbeciles. Even _I _wouldn't try this one, and my dad helped make the Map! He'd think it right funny if Remus caught us and say it served us—"

"Inbreeding," Lee interrupted Harry's rant in a thoughtful voice.

"Huh?"

"Inbreeding. I've figured out what's wrong with these two." Lee nodded sagely. "They're inbreeds. Too many redheads making more redheads."

"Hey!" Ron objected, but Fred and George grinned. George got in first

"Actually the problem with our family—"

"—At least so far as other purebloods are concerned—" Fred clarified.

"Is that we're not."

"Inbred enough, that is." Fred slapped Ron on the shoulder. "Cheer up, little brother. Mum and Dad are at _least _fourth cousins, if not further apart. Judging by everyone else's standards, they're practically from different planets. Speaking of the Astronomy Tower."

"Is that supposed to make me feel _better_?"

"Well…yes. Unless you want to marry Ginny," Fred replied. "Though that would be a bit—"

"Disgusting!" the youngest Weasley put in as Ron gagged.

"Fred—!"

"You asked, Ronniekins." Both twins smirked, but Hermione's thoughtful voice quickly made their cheerful expressions melt into horror.

"You know, that explains a lot. Professor Binns was discussing lineage in History of Magic the other day, and he said—"

"Hermione!" every boy in the room objected, and even Ginny rolled her eyes.

"Please don't start. He's boring enough without you retelling the story."

She sniffed. "It's not my fault that none of you care about the valuable knowledge and—"

"Pranking. _Please,_" Harry interrupted feelingly.

Remus turned away as the subject shifted, willing to bet a fortune that he knew exactly which prank the Map had suggested…and knowing that he'd turn a blind eye and pretend he'd never seen it before. Another thing that the Misfits didn't understand—just as the Marauders before them had not—was that Hogwarts always knew. Headmasters always knew. The staff _chose _to ignore the more harmless pranks and feign ignorance unless things got out of hand. That wasn't necessarily choosing the easier path…but it was the wiser one. The smartest students could be the hardest to keep busy—unless, of course, a professor was smart enough to let them entertain themselves.

Remus smiled again and headed for his office, headed back to the work he'd walked away from. The moment of peace was over. He could only stay distracted for so long. He had work to do.

-----------

Flashbulbs erupted in his face.

"How did you—"

"What do you think He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named will—"

"—results of the raid?"

"How many Death—"

"Who was responsible—"

"—hurt in—"

"—St. Mungo's reopen?"

Sirius could hardly make out a word in the din. He certainly couldn't understand a single question amid all the shouting. Sirius had given a dozen or so press conferences since becoming the Aurors' leader, and he'd never seen so many reporters show up. Most of the time, a significant number of newsies seemed to think that simply being in close proximity to the reckless and obnoxious Sirius Black could endanger their lives—or at least peeve Voldemort enough that he'd kill them for showing up. _Except for the fact that he's got bigger things to worry about at the moment_, Sirius thought with a repressed smile. _No wonder they're all here._

He didn't bother to shout. He just stood there and stared at the crowd until they finally shut up. They complied so with surprising swiftness, and he folded his hands on the podium.

"Thank you." Sirius had to fight back the need to laugh aloud. Looking at the crowd was like waiting for a Dungbomb—sooner or later, it was going to explode. "Before I take questions, there are some facts I would like to share with you.

"Yesterday, Voldemort and a significant percentage of the Death Eaters attacked St. Mungo's Hospital. Having been forewarned, the Aurors ambushed and engaged the Death Eaters. Structural damage to the hospital was minimal. All patients were evacuated prior to the attack. British, French, Swiss, and Canadian Aurors participated in the engagement and all survived. We experienced some minor injuries, but nothing life threatening." He took a deep breath.

"Our defensive plan enabled the Aurors to envelop the enemy and engage them in a confined area. As a result, seventeen Death Eaters were captured and are now being held by the Auror Division under Ministry of Magic supervision. Twenty-three other bodies have been identified and collected from the site.

"Our best guess is that total Death Eater strength is down to less than thirty. Obviously, this represents a considerable decrease in Voldemort's total strength, although now is too soon to tell exactly what kind of impact it will have." _There. Professional enough to please even Alice and technical sounding enough to keep them from asking for details I don't feel like sharing. _"Questions."

He'd expected an explosion. What Sirius got was stunned silence.

Several long moments passed before one woman spoke up: "Did you say that You-Know-Who now has less than _thirty _followers?"

"It would appear so." Sirius smiled. "I know the number sounds unbelievable, but we hit him hard this time. We really did."

"How did you know the attack was coming?" Someone else shouted. "You said that the Aurors were forewarned…?"

"I did, but there's no way I'm going to tell you how." Uneasy laughter greeted his response. Sirius softened the words with another smile. "I'm not sharing a secret here. Voldemort knows that he was betrayed, and we have reason to believe that the person responsible is now dead. Perhaps we will someday be able to honor the sacrifice and the choices some have made to take Voldemort down, but now is not the time. Secrets are necessary when fighting a war."

Heads nodded, and Sirius knew he had them. Victory always tended to make people patriotic, except—

"Such as the fact that _you _are secretly working with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named to prolong the war?" Rita Skeeter immediately piped up.

Sirius fought against the urge to roll his eyes and then thought the better of it and _did _roll them. "Well, that 'secret' is news to me, Rita. Wherever did you get that idea from?"

"It's quite clear that you and He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named have every reason to keep the war going and keep _yourselves_ in power. If that were not the case, the Aurors would _clearly _have defeated He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named long before now."

"So, what you're saying is that we ought to just send you up against Voldemort and you will slay him with a single spell. Or a single Quick-Quotes Quill." Sirius could not fight the wicked grin back.

"What? No, I—" Laughter drowned out the rest of Skeeter's response. Sirius let his grin grow and pointed at Cathleen Lamplighter

"Next question."

Lamplighter smiled in response, showing dimples. "Overall, would you say that this is a turning point in the war? That the end is near?"

Sirius paused for a moment before answering.

"There are no certainties in war. I can make no promise for a fast victory, but I can say that we are fighting and are fighting hard. We will continue to do so until the war is over and Voldemort goes down."

"But _could _this be a turning point?" Amelia Chevalier pressed. "Surely, things are better today than they were yesterday."

"Yes, they are." The Auror took a deep breath and then plunged in. "And we are getting there. So, yes. You can call this a turning point. It's as good a phrase as any if it makes people understand what the Aurors have always known: we are going to win."

He'd never really been cheered at a press conference before, hadn't really expected to. Sirius wasn't usually viewed as a bringer of good news or hope—that was James' job. Yet here he was and here they were…and Sirius could see hope on their faces. He could see belief.

So maybe this was a turning point. Maybe it meant something.

-----------

"Are you ready?" Peter asked the group standing with him. The first step was the most important—they all knew that. But it was also the most frightening.

Madam Rosmerta nodded shakily, and the others followed her lead. However, she was the only one brave enough to meet his eyes, frightened though she was. The group totaled about one hundred witches and wizards of all shapes and sizes, all colors and backgrounds. They only had one thing in common, and right now that was fear. Later, it would be courage.

Peter raised his wand. "Let's go."

One hundred people disappeared in an instant.

They Disapparated into Hogsmeade.

-----------

Less than an hour later, the same thing took place with another hundred or so wizards. They reappeared in Laçenne.

-----------

Months had passed since they'd really met; each had continued to fight the war from their own angles, working together but separately. No one could claim that the Order of the Phoenix had not been working hard or had not been contributing to the war…but Remus had purposefully kept the Inner Circle from meeting. Perhaps he'd been a bit of a coward, but he'd not wanted to face the empty chair he knew would be there.

And they were staring at it now. Knowledge, Remus' old chair. The heir apparent, the saying claimed. Snape's seat.

"We probably ought to reform, oughtn't we?" Tonks asked quietly.

"No," Remus replied before anyone could agree. "Severus may be…gone, but Fawkes will not allow us to reform the Circle. I've asked." Heartbeat. "This is the Final Circle. Come what may."

"But he's betrayed us," Peter said quietly when no one else seemed ready to speak. "Hasn't he?"

Remus' throat constricted.

"_If things had been a little different, I might have been you…"_

Flash.

"_I am Voldemort's acknowledged heir. You serve me now."_

_Frightened faces._ _Tension in the air._

"_Obey."_

"Remus?" James' voice was tight with worry.

He blinked. Swallowed. Shivered. Remembered. "_You won't always _understand_, Remus. But you'll always see. And you will find—in time—that all comes together in the end."_ Albus Dumbledore. Always the most cryptic of wizards. He found his voice with an effort. "I'm sorry. What was the question?"

"Snape." James' tone was surprisingly level. "I am assuming that he has chosen Voldemort's side. Bill rightly pointed out that Severus' remaining connection to the Inner Circle gives Voldemort insight we really don't want him to have."

_Bill pointed something out? Was I _that _engrossed in the visions?_

"Are we certain Severus has gone over?" Lily asked. "He has been loyal to us for years, appearances notwithstanding. Is this situation any different?"

"He stabbed Remus in the back, Lily," James retorted. "He's Voldemort's _heir_. I think his choices are obviously made."

Remus held up a hand before Sirius—surprisingly enough—could reply. "I'm not so sure." He shivered again, feeling cold. "Severus left Hogwarts at my request. We knew that he was breaking all ties with the Order when he did. I trust that he'll do what he thinks is right."

"_I'm sorry."_

_The flash of silver in the night—_

_Blood and pain, sinking in deep—_

Remus forced in a deep breath, shaking. A long moment passed, and everyone stared. Finally, he found his voice.

"That said…I'm not sure if Severus knows what side he's on. I—as some of you know—I have visions, have had them ever since I was submerged in a Font of Power. And I just don't know. Severus still has choices to make."

"So, what you're saying is that you have no idea. That none of us will know until it's too late." Bill scrubbed a hand over his face. "I'm not sure what scares me more—Snape on our side and working without support or Snape fighting against us, knowing what he knows. Both options get people killed."

"And power is seductive," Tonks added. "I can't see Voldemort's _heir_ betraying him. He'll have too much to lose."

Remus opened his mouth to reply—unsure of how to argue or even if he should—then Sirius beat him to it.

"He's not going to betray us."

The Order's leader blinked hard, saw the shock on James' face. Sirius defending Snape? The world had to be ending.

"Voldemort has nothing but fear and power to offer. Snape is not the type of man to live the rest of his life in fear just so he can have a slice of the pie. He won't do it. He's nasty and bitter and vindictive, but he's not evil. He won't live like that."

"What if you're wrong?" Tonks asked.

"Then we're screwed," Sirius replied bluntly. But Remus saw the slight doubt in his eyes. Sirius had spoken confidently, but inside he was not so sure. "Accept that and move on. Next subject."

There was a long silence, but no one seemed ready to argue. For his part, Remus could only stare at Sirius, half surprised and half stumped. Half confused. There was something to see that he wasn't seeing—his head was spinning. There were too many choices—

_Screaming._

_Laughter._

_Dark prison cells._ _Azkaban, but not. Another island?_

_The Ministry in ruins._ _A giant black scorch in front of the entranceway, with a slight bloodstain running along the right most edge. A pair of…glasses?_

_Deserted streets in Diagon Alley._

_Hungry children begging in Hogsmeade… Hogsmeade? More laughter. Mocking laughter. Mad and victorious._

_And Hogwarts._ _Hogwarts burning and fighting and struggling and dying. A heart carved loose from the inside out, bleeding and betrayed from within. Broken and weeping for one of its own._

_Curses crossing in the night—defenses broken—_

_Defeat._ _Gone._

"Remus?" Lily's hand landed on his arm. "Are you all right?"

"Yes." _No. _"I—"

The world went black.

-----------

_Screaming._

_Laughter._

_Dark prison cells._ _Azkaban, but not. Another island?_

_The Ministry in ruins._ _A giant black scorch in front of the entranceway, with a slight bloodstain running along the right most edge. A pair of…glasses?_

_Deserted streets in Diagon Alley._

_Hungry children begging in Hogsmeade… Hogsmeade? More laughter. Mocking laughter. Mad and victorious._

_And Hogwarts._ _A burned out shell, unconquered but broken forevermore. Carved out like a charred holiday turkey. Unwilling to give, so crushed beyond repair. Finished with only worthless defiance left in her wake._

_Gone._

Or—_Make your choices, Severus. Make them well._

_Screaming._

_Laughter._

_Pain._

_Four men—and someone sobbing._

Severus felt as if the world was going to break.

_Choices._

------------

The Other Author's Note: So, the question remains: Which side _is _Snape on? Does he even know? Also, what will Voldemort do with only thirty Death Eaters? Don't count him out yet; he's still got a lot up his sleeve.

Also, for any readers just joining me, don't forget to drop by the Unbroken Universe Yahoo!Group at http://groups. yahoo. com/group/UnbrokenUniverse (Remove the spaces for the link to work). There you will find all kinds of tidbits, theories, artwork, outtakes, and videos! Come join the fun if you haven't already.


	35. Chapter 34: Leaving the Shadows

**Promises Defended

* * *

_Chapter Thirty-Four: Leaving the Shadows_**

* * *

He spent little time in the Auror Division Office at the Ministry; the spaces were mostly deserted with the Aurors basing on Avalon these days. But ever since the Ministry of Magic had been rebuilt, someone had to be there to read the mail and answer the Floo. People often called the Department of Magical Law Enforcement for the strangest reasons, with bogus tips and Death Eater sightings, rumors of Dementors in a neighbor's closet or buried in an old cave/well/attic, and more farfetched stories than even Sirius' active imagination could concoct. But there were still dark creatures and renegade wizards out there, too, so Sirius couldn't ignore the calls. With the demise of the Hit Wizards (all had died during the first attack on the Ministry, and recruiting replacements was hardly a priority), the Aurors pretty much _were_ the DMLE.

So all the problems were his. A trio of secretaries (non-Aurors) could handle the bulk of the attention seekers and forward important information to Avalon, but a trained Auror had to wander that way at least daily. And since Sirius was living at Grimmauld Place again, it might as well have been him.

He smiled briefly. Despite what reporters like Rita Skeeter seemed to think, Sirius did take his job seriously…most of the time. Sometimes he was having too much fun to remember the difficult parts of the job, but those moments were less and less frequent these days.

Overall, perhaps he took his responsibilities _too _much to heart. One could never really tell with Skeeter. She was a sensational opportunist. If an article could cause chaos, she believed its premise. If rumors were juicy, she proclaimed them to be true. She'd write anything to get attention (some of the calls to the Auror Division _definitely _reminded Sirius of her), positive or negative.

Especially when someone like Sirius Black slapped her down in public. He'd already apologized to James, Peter, and Remus—not for what he'd said, which she deserved, but for motivating Skeeter to drag their names through the mud. Again.

----------

_April 16th, 1993_

**THE RULE OF FOUR**

_by_ Rita Skeeter, _Special Correspondent_

Power in Wizarding Britain has more often than not existed in a

state of flux. From outright dictators to Dark Lords, we've seen

bad and worse come and go. Most fight back where they must,

others keep their heads down when they can.

But sometimes power takes on a more sinister form. A more

subtle one. We call them heroes, usually. Legends, sometimes.

Revered and respected by all, they are the ones who stand

"between" light and dark—and amass great power by doing so.

But woe be to those who reveal such _foreboding _truths now.

Yet—let us examine the rule of four.

Four men. Wizards _exactly _placed to control our world.

Hogwarts' finest, you say. The best and the brightest since their

very first year, best friends, as good as brothers. Gifted with

varying degrees of power, they learned early on to work as a

team…and tormented the entire student body for five years.

Harmless pranks, they called it.

Time will tell. Look at them now. Four men, controlling the most

sensitive areas of power in Wizarding Britain. James Potter,

Minister of Magic, the "heroic" ex-Auror turned politician, recently

(and miraculously) recovered from paralyzing injuries. There is

not a governmental decision made that he does not influence.

Peter Pettigrew, diplomat extraordinaire: openly Death Eater

turned public icon, this "weakest" Marauder (as they once called

themselves) has his pudgy fist closed tight on our nation's

foreign relations. It's so comforting to know that Pettigrew is the

first impression that foreigners get of Britain.

Remus Lupin, Hogwarts Headmaster: shaping the next

generation on a daily basis. Years ago, witches and wizards

decided to allow the "tame" werewolf to stay at Hogwarts—but

that was before his three closest friends rose to power. Before

he used the legendary school as a battlefield…three separate

times.

And then lastly, the long-presumed dead Sirius Black.

Supposedly murdered by You-Know-Who twelve years ago, the

head Auror rose from the ashes to become You-Know-Who's

most deadly enemy…and most likely successor. Rumored to be

dabbling in power few understand, Sirius Black has been

defeating Death Eaters left and right, killing his way to the top.

Popular hero or not, he is the driving force behind the four, the

invisible hand controlling our world.

Will we stand for this virtual four-way dictatorship? The effects

are subtle now, whilst the "Marauders" remain friends, but power

corrupts. What comes with the day when these _friends _part?

Who will stop them then?

Act now or pay the price tomorrow.

----------

Sirius had bought the _Daily Prophet _to work with him today, figuring that it would give him something to doodle on at the very least. Or to ridicule, though reading Skeeter's lies again frustrated him more than they should have. He knew better, but Sirius still wanted to snap her head off.

Thanks to Skeeter (the "Rule of Four" had created a furor), good news was being ignored. Things were changing—for once for the better—and the news was ignoring those facts. They'd utterly neglected to show _hope_.

Hogsmeade was being resettled. After almost six months, brave people were going back. In direct defiance of Voldemort, they were repopulating the town that the Dark Lord had so thoroughly emptied. Voldemort had murdered the adults and stolen the children, leaving behind a clear message that the only Wizarding town in all of Britain was dead. He'd meant the action to be a clear demonstration of his power, and it had worked. Wizarding Britain had stayed away.

But no longer.

Led by Peter and Madam Rosmerta, over one hundred witches and wizards had resettled Hogsmeade. Peter had actually moved out of his London flat and into a house there. All un-owned homes had been auctioned off by the newly formed Hogsmeade Trust. All homes, businesses, and other places that could be inherited by anyone—specifically, those children held by Voldemort in Azkaban—were being administered to by that same Hogsmeade Trust until their proper owners could claim them. What with the interrelated families in the Wizarding world, most were being looked after by relatives of some sort or another, but the unclaimed homes and businesses had been bought, with the money going into a fund designed for the care of—

"Mister Black. _Minister _Black—"

Sirius looked up from the (bad) caricature of Rita Skeeter he'd been drawing on the "Rule of Four" and had to smile at the harried secretary. "I keep asking you to call me Sirius."

Melanie Graygoose blushed. "Yes, sir. Umm—someone is here to see you. I told him that we aren't accepting visitors or reporters, but he insisted."

"Who is he?"

"He didn't say, sir." She smiled brightly. "But he's a dignified old gentleman. Seemed harmless—"

"Hello, Sirius," a cultured voice said from the doorway behind Graygoose.

Somehow, he wasn't surprised.

"Dietfried." The head Auror rose and smiled at his suddenly befuddled secretary. "You can go, Melanie. Mister…Bishop and I are old friends."

"Of course, Minister." A bob of her head, and Graygoose fled.

After waiting for the office door to click shut, Grindelwald chuckled. "For a moment there, Sirius, I thought you were going to use my real name."

"There seemed no point in frightening her." Sirius shrugged. "With my luck, she'd call in the rest of the department to arrest me for colluding with Dark Lords."

"Ah, yes. The article." Grindelwald gestured elegantly at the Skeeter-covered front page of the _Daily Prophet._ A slight smile creased his still-smooth face as he noticed Sirius' artwork, but he did not comment. "May I join you?"

"I'd say no, but I doubt you'd listen. So, please do."

"Now, now, Sirius. You know how I appreciate good manners."

He scowled. "And you know that our business is finished. What are you doing here?"

Grindelwald settled into the comfortable leather chair across from Sirius' desk before responding, and the Auror had little choice but to drop back into his own chair. "_You_ said you were done with me, my friend. I still watch with interest."

"Watching and talking are hardly the same."

Brown eyes twinkled, briefly reminding Sirius of Dumbledore. _Not a good comparison, Sirius, no matter how apt._ Grindelwald smiled easily. "But I'm not finished with you, either."

"Clearly." He checked the urge to sigh in frustration, not even considering the fact that most wizards would be shaking by now. He didn't fear Grindelwald. Couldn't. Sirius continued: "What have you left to do?"

"One last conversation, I think. Nothing more."

"I see."

"Do you?" One silver eyebrow rose.

"Talk, Dietfried. I've work to do."

His opponent laughed lightly. "Such impatience! I thought you'd grown out of that."

"Not likely."

"Somehow, I am not surprised," Grindelwald replied dryly. His gaze grew a little sharper, but Sirius ignored the edge in his voice.

"There's no reason you should be."

Truth be told, Sirius was sick of this cat and mouse game. He didn't regret tracking Grindelwald down—as perilous as learning from _any _Dark Lord could be, necessity won out. He'd only known one way to get where he had to go (though Sirius still sometimes, in the wee hours of a quiet night, wondered how _he _got to this point. Sirius Black, the irresponsible prankster and illogical Auror. Wonders never ceased.). But sometimes, courting Grindelwald could be a gigantic pain. Like when he wasn't interested in doing it any more.

"I see." Suddenly, the old man went cold. Sirius knew he _ought _to shiver, feel afraid, or _something, _but he just couldn't summon the common sense to be afraid.

"Are you waiting for something in particular before you say what you're going to say?" Sirius finally asked. "Because I _do _have things to get done."

"Perhaps I am awaiting a little respect."

Sirius grinned. "Don't hold your breath."

The answer had come without thought. _Maybe I am still reckless. _Somehow, the realization was a relief—but judging from the look on Grindelwald's face, the old man did _not _agree. Although the former Dark Lord always had control of himself (and was usually a very amicable individual), he was looking annoyed now. _Darn._

"Fortunately, I do not intend to," was the dry reply. "However, I would ask that you rein your immaturity in for the moment."

_And why would I do that?_ The words were on the tip of his tongue, but Sirius stopped himself. There was such a thing as pushing too far, and he'd finally gotten old enough to know better. He sighed quietly and sat back in his chair. "In that case, I'll ask again what you intend to do."

"You are going to challenge him soon." The temperature in the room changed abruptly with the single sentence. It was not a question, nor did Grindelwald expect an answer. That much was clear. But hearing the words said so matter-of-factly, so coolly, was a shock, even to Sirius. Even to the man who should have known better.

The man who had to answer.

"Yes," he replied levelly. "Yes, I am."

Grindelwald studied him for a long moment, his gaze appraising. He did not seem surprised, or even disappointed—but nor did he seem patient. A strange impression for him; Grindelwald was always in control.

"I have come to speak to you before you take that final step. Unless you do not want my advice—if that is the case, do say so. I will leave."

Sirius sighed. "No. Say your piece."

_Even if I won't listen, as I haven't a thousand times._ _Dangerous and egotistical as it sounds, I have learned what I needed from you and moved on. No matter that Tom Riddle probably once thought the same about this man—and many others. I believe I have succeeded. _He shivered. _And I _will not _become what you are. Were. I will not be your next Dark Lord._

Grindelwald's twisted smile jerked Sirius out of his reverie. "I know what you are thinking," the former Dark Lord said quietly. "You are thinking that I am wrong about you and that I always have been. You still believe that you can defeat a Dark Lord without replacing him."

"And what if I do?" the Auror smiled back. "Dumbledore pulled it off."

"Dumbledore removed one Dark Lord and cleared the way for the next. Will you do the same?"

"No." The word grated of his throat out like nails on a chalkboard.

"Then you will replace him. There is no other way."

Sirius quirked a smile, half cocky and half unsettled. "I'll come up with one."

"No. You won't."

The uncomfortable silence stretched forward, with one set of blue eyes studying the other. Each refused to give an inch; each knew the other would not. Sirius never was sure who was in control of those moments, only that he gained something intangible from that last conversation, none of it in words.

Finally, Grindelwald sighed, shook his head. "You are different, Sirius Black. You are not like me, and certainly not like Tom Riddle. Perhaps that will save you."

There was no way to reply. Only to wait. Seconds ticked by.

"Hold to that difference, hold to what you are, and you will win. Forget that, and only time will defeat Tom. No one else will." Grindelwald rose smoothly; Sirius was too frozen to do the same. The old man continued: "That is not what I came here to say, but…it will suffice. You know the rest."

And he was gone.

----------

"James…?"

Lily had started shivering and now could not stop. The downside, she supposed, to managing the Ministry's wards (the Aurors used to do that, but while they were on Avalon, that was well nigh impossible) was that when a serious enough alarm came through, she got the shivers.

But she'd never felt _sick _before, no matter what happened. That meant this was different.

"Yes, dear?"

"I think we have a problem."

"Problem of what sort? Politician? Reporter? Death Eater? They all scare me."

Lily shivered again, ignoring the teasing smile in James' voice. Usually, she would have laughed with him. Now she was just cold. The words came out raspy. "Dementor sort, I think."

"Dementor?" He was out of his inner office before she could blink, intense where he'd been teasing before. How quickly James could transition from joking to pure concentration had always amazed her, but Lily didn't have the awareness to spare at the moment.

"I might be wrong." Words came hard and choppy. Breathing took effort. "But I don't think so."

Lily rose with an effort. She felt like she was moving in mud. Every muscle was heavy, so heavy. Slowly, she made her way over to a corner cabinet and hauled the top drawer open. She pulled the Ministry's ward diagram out with difficulty.

Black dots coated the road leading to the Ministry. She barely heard James say:

"I'll call Avalon."

"I…"

Her vision swam. Lily swallowed back the lump in her throat, distanced herself from the fluctuating wards, and forced her mind to clear. Doing so almost worked.

"Tell them to hurry," she managed.

----------

Tonks took the call, and promptly tripped over the corner table on her way out of the lounge. She'd passed through by chance, only to see the lights flashing, indicating that a priority message from the Ministry was coming in over Floo.

She'd never seen bright purple Floo flames before now, but every Auror knew what they meant. Purple meant an emergency at the Ministry and for the Aurors to get there _now now now._ Tonks threw the door open—somehow managing to grab the knob on the first try—and bolted for the training grounds where Class 4906 and several other instructors were working. She almost ran into a tree along the way.

"Bill!"

Of all days for Sirius to be gone.

"Frank!"

An emergency at the Ministry. What else could it be? Voldemort was back to destroy the place for a third time. Or maybe it would be the fourth. Tonks couldn't remember.

Heads turned.

"Hu—"

She tripped over her own feet and fell flat on her face, just as the entire class swung to face her. Hurried footsteps rushed her way, and Tonks thought they were Bill's.

"Tonks? Are you all right? What's going on?"

Voldemort at the Ministry. Of _all _days for Sirius to be wasting time somewhere else.

She scrambled to her feet. "Ministry. Emergency. Must be Voldemort. Purple Alert."

Immediately, Frank started shouting at the students to go back to their rooms. Bill just grabbed her arm and dragged her forward, sprinting for the Emergency Apparation Center. Tonks almost fell again.

----------

"Evacuate the Ministry except for key personnel," James ordered as Arthur walked in. The Minister's voice was amplified on every floor and in every room, impossible to miss. Cool and unhurried, James still could have awoken the dead.

_Not like we need that at the moment. Not with Death Eaters raining down upon us._ Arthur struggled to remain calm. This wasn't his field, and he wasn't exactly a warrior. He could hold his own in a duel, but… Not shaking was hard. He was the Deputy Minister of Magic, and he had to look confident.

He sidled up next to James and kept his voice low. "What's going on?"

The Situation Room was filling with people. Every department head was there, despite James' orders to leave. So were most of their deputies. Arthur looked to be the last to arrive; he'd passed hundreds of witches and wizards rushing for the Floo to get out. They were rushing to safety, wherever that was.

"Dementors." James' voice was even quieter. "Several hundred of them, if Lily's count is accurate. All coming here."

A cold chill rushed up Arthur's spine and would not go away. His voice cracked. "De—Dementors?"

"Yeah." James nodded left and Arthur followed his gaze. In the far corner, Lily was bent over the ward diagram, her wand painting numbers in the air. As Arthur watched, _**245**_ was replaced by _**249**_. Then the number ticked up to _**251 **_and held steady. He swallowed hard. Two hundred and fifty-one Dementors. Arthur hadn't known that many existed in the universe. Hadn't thought a quarter of that many _could _exist. He felt cold already.

_Two hundred and fifty-one Dementors._

"Dear God." He didn't mean for the words to escape. They just did.

"Pretty much," James agreed. The Minister was pale, but otherwise calm. Arthur envied his control. "If—"

A light-hearted voice interjected from behind the Deputy Minister. "You could ask him for help, but I think we're on our own for the moment."

"Sirius!" Peter admonished, but the head Auror just smiled and shrugged innocently.

"It's true enough." His tone was still flippant, but his eyes were serious. "We're on our own. Thankfully, the Aurors will be here in a moment."

"How long?" Lesley Dummingston, Magical Accidents and Catastrophes asked. Arthur didn't miss the nervous looks she and the other department heads were exchanging. Why were they still here? Come to think of it, if the Aurors were coming, why was _he _still here?

"Can't be soon enough. They're closing fast." Amos Diggory's voice cracked several times in the space of the few words he managed to speak.

"Not that fast." Alice Longbottom strode into the room, focused and all business. Just as if she'd been there all along.

Arthur's knees went weak, threatened to collapse in relief. Behind Alice trailed the other Aurors, entering the Situation Room one by one. Arthur counted twenty-one of them and then no more, and his relief began to fade. Only twenty-one? Against—he checked Lily's floating number again—_two hundred and fifty-one_ Dementors? Even the Aurors weren't that good.

_Twenty-three counting Sirius and James, Arthur._ _If you're going to be a fatalist, at least get the numbers right. _He didn't know where the sarcastic inner voice came from, but it didn't help at all. He just wanted to run away, shiver in a corner, or faint—or perhaps all three at once—and he really wished that Bill hadn't come with the other Aurors. It was one thing to know that his eldest son put his life on the line from time to time; seeing him do it was another.

He was almost too caught up in his own thoughts to notice the strange look Alice gave Sirius before saying: "We were wondering where you were. Bill called Grimmauld Place and got no answer."

The senior Auror shrugged. "I was manning the desk here for a bit. Got caught up in paperwork and was still in the building. Good timing, eh?"

Alice gave him a narrow look but did not reply. Arthur tried to catch Bill's eye, not understanding the underlying tension, but his son was too focused on Lily's ward diagram. His former student, Nymphadora, stood to his right.

"This is really going to suck," she muttered.

"No kidding," Arthur's eldest replied as the other Aurors gathered around. But it was Sirius who didn't bother to look at the ward diagram and spoke anyway.

"All right. What's our best killing ground?"

"Killing ground?" Diggory asked before anyone could reply. "You can't kill Dementors—"

"Actually, you can." Lily looked up from her diagram, her features strained. "It's just…complicated."

"We've been training to it." Alice again. "We'll manage."

"More than manage." Sirius crossed his arms. "We'll stop them in the Atrium, I think. The narrow—"

"Stop them? You can't stop Dementors any more than you can kill them!" Diggory shrieked loud enough to make Arthur wince. "Your delusions are going to get us all—"

Sirius spun savagely on James and the other department heads. "Will someone please _shut him up?_"

The sheer anger in his voice made Arthur blink hard. Sirius still looked completely calm—until one noticed the Auror's flashing eyes. It was those eyes that scared Arthur, cold and hot at the same time, mostly focused yet just a tiny bit wild. A shiver jerked through his body, and when James finally put a hand on Sirius' arm to calm him down, the moment could not come soon enough. The Auror looked away when the Minister called him off, focusing again on Lily's floating number. _**251.**_

"Arthur, why don't you take the others out of here? Pick a rally point and wait there for word."

"We can—" Dummingston's shaky voice cut off Arthur's nod.

"No, you can't," James corrected her gently. "You're not trained for this. Speaking of which—Arthur, warn Molly that Voldemort has started using Dementors en mass. Tell her she'll have to act if we fail here."

"Right." Arthur tried to keep his voice level and wasn't sure if he succeeded. The thought of Molly facing Dementors down in battle…he winced again, struggling not to shake. But Molly had worked with the Unicorn Group on this project for months. She knew what she was doing. Aside from Lily and maybe the Aurors, Molly knew more about defeating Dementors than anyone else. She had helped create the spell, knew what she was doing…

"Arthur!" James' voice was still level but his volume had increased slightly. Belatedly, Arthur realized that his boss had continued speaking while Arthur's mind had been reeling. He jumped, feeling foolish.

"Yes?"

"Which rally point will you use?"

"Umm…" Arthur thought fast. "Florean Fortescue's. We can wait there without drawing much suspicion."

"Good. Anti-Apparation wards will go down when you're ready."

Arthur didn't know that those wards _could _come down. But he didn't ask. Instead, he glanced at the department heads. "Are you ready?"

Shaky nods were the only answer, but that was good enough. He turned to James, but the Minister was ahead of him.

"Lily?"

She held up one finger to silence him as a rough-looking map appeared on the wall behind her. To her right, Bill's and Nymphadora's wands moved in unison, sharpening the map's lines and causing a sea of black dots to appear, sweeping down the street towards the Ministry's entrance. Finally, as Lily's number faded and Bill's replaced it, the head of the Unicorn Group turned back towards her husband, color creeping back onto her face. "Ready."

"Arthur?"

Arthur raised his wand, thankful that his hand was not shaking. Was he getting used to this? A quick look ensured that the other department heads had also raised their wands with varying degrees of control. Peter seemed to be the only collected one in the group; he watched and waited, seeming ready for anything. The others were far more skittish; Grace Canning was even shaking. But they were all grown witches and wizards. They had to be capable of Apparating under pressure.

Didn't they? Lily didn't give him time to think more. Arthur felt the wards come down with a _snap._

"Go."

_Pop._

And then he was a Florean Fortescue's, unable to wonder any more. A quick head count told him that six department heads (including himself) had arrived safely, and Arthur heaved a sigh of relief. It took him a long moment to realize that his count was one short. There should have been seven.

----------

They gathered at the far end of the Atrium, forming two equally sized ranks. The older Aurors formed the front line, with Lily and Sirius anchoring the center. James and Bill were at the center of the second.

Their hurried map was now completely in Tonks' control, dancing on the ceiling and showing the Dementors as they closed.

"Kind of nice to be _doing _something and not sitting aside in a chair," James commented from behind Sirius.

"Yeah, but if you even think about trying anything heroic, I'll knock you out and have Lily here Buddy-Apparate you the hell back to Godric's Hollow," Sirius shot back.

James chuckled. "Don't worry. I grew out of my glory-seeking Auror days."

"Glad to know one of us has."

Lily glanced over her shoulder and speared both with a withering glare. "You two are always like this before a battle, aren't you?"

"Yup." James and Sirius answered and grinned together.

"Here they come." Tonks' warning cause sudden silence. Sirius felt a cool slip over his body, felt like a freezing wind had just blown into the Atrium. The two ranks shivered in unison as the first wave hit, the massive presence of so many Dementors palpable even before they were in sight. Everyone had a slightly different reaction to Dementors, but every time was negative. Some of the Aurors—particularly Frank Longbottom and the other former Azkaban prisoners—were shaking already. Tonks' voice, however, was surprisingly level.

"Two hundred and fifty-one holding steady." Heartbeat. "They're at the entrance now. I'm releasing the map."

The map faded away as Sirius snuck a glance at Tonks. Her hair had been blue earlier, but it was Andromeda's brown, now. She was all business.

Quickly, Sirius ran his eyes down their lines, watching reactions. Frank was shaking but under control, his shoulder pressed tight against Alice's for support. Bill was drawn and pale in the back line, but Tonks' free hand was clamped on his wrist and he seemed to be dealing. _Weird._ Tonks was casting left handed, and it took Sirius a moment to remember that was how she dealt with Dementors. Off hand spellwork made her concentrate and helped her ignore the crushing effects the creatures had on everyone.

He scanned the others: Hestia, looking angry; Cornelia, wide-eyed and nervous; Jean d'Orville looked like he wanted to vomit; Horace Smeltings seemed ready to pass out. Everyone else was a variation on those same four themes, even Lily, calm though her expression was.

His gaze met James' last of all, and his oldest friend's hazel eyes were full of concern. "You going to be all right, Padfoot?"

Sirius had been ignoring the cold feeling swirling around him. Had almost not felt it. And the memories—the memories—

_Blood flooding down his face._ _Screams echoing in his ears, throbbing and hurting. Cold hands on his face—_

No.

His vision cleared.

"Yeah. I'll be all right."

James' hand closed on his left shoulder and squeezed gently, but Sirius' mind was on a journal entry, oddly analytical and surprisingly truthful.

'_**There are only two ways to associate with Dementors. One must either succumb to their effects or conquer them. Dementors cannot be ignored. They must be endured or overcome.'**_

Strangely helpful for Voldemort. Was Sirius shivering? James' hand had tightened on his shoulder. No. He wasn't. He felt the coolness swirling around him, both inside and out. But the fear had faded. The memories were not buried, but placed aside where they could not hurt. For the first time in his life, Sirius could focus despite the hundreds of Dementors spilling into the Atrium. The distance was decreasing fast.

"Stand by."

His voice did not shake.

Sirius could make out individual Dementors in the mass, now. Could even see hands—he braced himself for the inevitable memories, but they did not rise . Blackness crept slightly into the edge of his vision, but Sirius could still see. Remaining calm made the blackness vanish after a moment.

He glanced at Lily, gathered himself. "Count down from three?"

"Yes." Her voice was tight.

The line shifted. Wands came up in preparation.

"Three."

Power began thrumming along the line. The Safe Return Spell wasn't a spell one could do without the proper mental preparation, no matter how powerful you were. The Dementors were perhaps sixty feet away.

"Two."

Fifty feet. The creatures sped up. Did they know, or were they just eager for the kill?

"One."

A scream split the stillness, and Sirius saw a figure suddenly appear dead in the center of the charging Dementors . He could not identify the face before the witch—?—was swallowed by the mass, but he instantly knew what had to have happened. The Anti-Apparation wards were back up; someone could only have Apparated into the Atrium if one of the department heads had experienced an Incomplete Apparation.

_Please let it not be Peter. _There wasn't time for more. Thirty feet.

"Now!"

Heartbeat.

"_Amospero Aminaes Odinfragilisecrum!"_ Invisible magic arched out, not white or taking a form like a Patronus. This was something far more advanced, only possible because every one of the witches and wizards in the ranks was in the top twenty percent of powerful magic users in the Wizarding world.

For a long moment, nothing happened. Sirius' heart thundered in his chest.

Twenty feet.

Beat.

Fifteen feet.

Cold, gray hands reached out for them. James' hand on his shoulder started to shake.

Ten Feet.

Nine.

Eight.

Seven.

And then—

The front line of Dementors wavered. Collapsed. Shimmered—

And _disappeared._

Sirius hardly dared to hold his breath. Definitely did not dare to hope. Perhaps three dozen Dementors were gone. Over two hundred were still coming. Moment of fear—what if Lily was wrong? He could feel the same terror reverberating from the others, but then the moment passed… Determination remained.

The second wave of power shot out, and the second clump of Dementors wavered, collapsed, buckled, and were gone. And then the third. Fourth. Then more and more. It was like a black wave cascading away from the Aurors' line, pushing the dark sea behind it further and further away. Sirius almost expected to see a cloud of ash settling in the Dementors' place, but there was nothing as the wave faded away.

Nothing.

The Dementors were gone.

----------

The fallout was terrific. No one died—he was able to keep the Dark Lord's violent temper at least that much in check—but the aftershocks of losing three quarters of the _existing _Dementors traveled through Death Eater ranks for days to come. Few crossed paths with the Dark Lord without experiencing a great deal of pain, and most Death Eaters spent that first week in a perpetual state of fear. Severus had never seen Azkaban so deserted, had never thought he'd see so many of the Dark Lord's followers cower and hide.

Eight days later, however, the whispers started. They were quiet at first, and always well hidden, but the whispers _grew _as the days passed. Disaffection. Anger. Uncertainty. But mostly fear. By the proverbial thirteenth day, Severus knew something had to be done.

He took to the shadows, first. Drifting from corner to corner and gathering crucial information. He was good at that, after all. Good at lying and hiding and deceiving all sides. Severus had lots of practice uncovering facts and feelings others did not want him to know—too much. Enough to make him sick, sometimes.

_And, now more than ever, I just wish it would stop._

He was so tired of playing both sides. So much of him just wanted to _stop_, to pick one side and stay with it for all time. To feel no divided loyalties. To live in _one _world, not between two. To—_Focus, Severus._ Voices on the other side of the wall.

"—going to lose, aren't we?" Bradley Jugson asked Tory Urquhart just as Severus turned the corner.

"Maybe. Probably. I don't know anymore," Urquhart replied before noticing Severus—then both jumped and went stark white. "Snape! We didn't—I didn't, um, mean anything. Just idle—"

"Idle chatter," he cut Urquhart off. "You know what they say about idle tongues, don't you?"

"Uhh…" The older Jugson brother trailed off. Severus half-wondered where William had got off to. The two were rarely separated, and had both miraculously survived St. Mungo's. _Too bad._ Severus sneered.

"Never mind that. You were saying?"

"Nothing! Nothing at all." Urquhart should have known better.

He met each set of frightened eyes in turn. "It would be far _safer _to tell me the truth than to deny it." Severus let his voice grow sharp and nasty. "Else you will find that you will _not _enjoy the consequences."

Urquhart and Jugson exchanged wide-eyed glances, but Severus did not soften his glare. Fear was a useful tool, especially amongst those who were fonder of employing it. Death Eaters were not accustomed to feeling fear. Even Voldemort did not often single his followers out. He dealt with the leaders, they managed the rest. And Severus, especially in his position of newfound power, rarely lowered himself to _discipline _the followers.

"We—we were just talking," Jugson replied slowly. Severus had to wait a long moment before he continued. "Wondering what is going to happen now that we lost the Dementors…"

"You're wondering if we are going to lose. If you should betray our Lord now and run to Sirius Black and James Potter and their precious little friends." Both gaped, more surprised by what he was insinuating than the contempt in Snape's voice. Jugson quailed under his angry gaze, but Severus let them stir for a long moment before continuing:

"We are not going to lose. The Dementors were a diversion strike and have always been expendable. And if _you _run to Potter, you will die. Is that understood?"

He'd not once raised his voice, but Jugson and Urquhart looked ready to run.

"Yes," Jugson whispered. Urquhart's response was even more quiet and less intelligible. Snape glared at both one last time.

"Be gone."

They fled, and Severus turned to stride towards Voldemort's Azkaban palace. This was something to report to the Dark Lord and report fast. The scattered whispers had solidified into dangerous fears, and they could no longer afford to kill off the doubters within the ranks. Something would have to be done to restore confidence, and it had to be done before they lost anyone.

Severus made a mental note to review the list of potential targets for assassination and knocked on the Dark Lord's private door.

----------

* * *

Ye Other Author's Note: As always, thank you very much for reading. My intention is to finish this story off before Book 7 comes out, and every review I receive encourages me to write faster! So please do encourage me, and as always, I hope you've enjoyed the chapter. Stay tuned for Chapter 35: Debts Owed, where a surprising character changes allegiance! 


	36. Chapter 35: Debts Owed

**Promises Defended**

* * *

_Chapter Thirty-Five: Debts Owed_

* * *

She'd boated to Avalon and set the wards to screeching, knowing exactly how to get attention as any former Auror would. Frank took one look at her and locked her up, wisely keeping her far away from the students, instructors, and even the other prisoners. After setting Bill to guard her—and letting no one else know the identity of Avalon's newest prisoner—he called Grimmauld Place.

Sirius was there within minutes, soaked to the bone from the driving rain outside. After a quick briefing, he handed off his wand to Bill, dragged two chairs into the cell, and allowed the door to lock behind him.

"I didn't expect to see you here." Sirius sat down and offered the other chair to her with a gesture.

"Hello, Sirius."

Amanda Pieters looked up from where she sat in the corner, wet and dirty and seemingly unaware that she sat in a puddle on hard rock floor. Her hair was tangled and stringy, and dark circles made her eyes look sunken into her skull. She'd lost weight from when Sirius had last seen her, back before he'd wound up in Voldemort's hands. She'd been captured years after him and had broken under torture in Azkaban. Ever since then, Amanda Pieters had been a loyal and lethal Death Eater. Most of the Aurors had even forgotten that she'd been one of their own; they preferred to forget the nightmare situations like hers. Amanda Pieters wasn't the only Auror to go over to Voldemort's side during the long war; she was just the only one to survive this long. Her situation, though tragic, was inexcusable, and the Aurors had always reserved a special hatred for betrayers. But now she was back.

"Won't you sit down?" Sirius asked uncomfortably.

Amanda shrugged and rose, unfolding like a toy skeleton previously abandoned in that corner. She dropped unceremoniously into the offered chair, not meeting Sirius' eyes. Instead, she stared glassily at the far wall. "I guess you're wondering why I'm here."

Her voice was listless, made Sirius swallow. This shadow was nothing like the dynamic student of Ernie Jordan he'd once known.

"Yeah. The question's crossed my mind."

She grimaced; the expression might have been an attempt at a smile. "Because I'm done. I'm just…done."

Sirius' heart jumped up into his throat, did a backflip or two. He'd not even wanted to consider the possibility before, not dared hope. An hour ago, he would not have thought that _this _could happen. But here she was.

"Define 'done'," he prodded gently.

A long moment passed before Amanda answered, sucking in a deep breath that sounded like a sob. But when she did respond, her voice was surprisingly level, a testament to the self-control she'd always had.

"I turned to him out of fear and rationalized it to myself by being certain that he would win. But he's not going to…so here I am."

"Are you asking for asylum?" The rules said that he had to ask, but Amanda snorted.

"I don't much care. I don't want publicity. And I don't care if I die." Her dead green eyes finally met Sirius'. "But I'll tell you everything I know. It won't much atone for what I've done, but at least it's something. I owe the Aurors that much."

"Are you sure?"

He wasn't even certain what he was asking. But at least Amanda didn't hesitate before answering.

"Yeah."

"All right…" Sirius took a deep breath. "I'm sure we'll do a more formal interview process later, but for now...what do you think I need to know?"

"You're asking why I wanted to talk to you." It wasn't a question.

"I'm more interested in why you said that you had to see me immediately, and only me."

"Ah. That."

A long moment of silence filled the cell; Sirius fought the urge to shiver. Being in the cell had not reminded him of Azkaban until he'd stopped to think, but now—now he wanted to flee. He expected a Dementor to wander by any moment, expected to have to huddle down into a corner and struggle to keep any semblance of sanity, of control. Never before now had he realized how very similar Azkaban and Avalon were. _Sister islands._ What did that say about the future?

Thankfully, Amanda's hoarse voice tugged him back to the present.

"He's afraid of you, you know. He tries to hide it, but you're the only one he fears. Not…James. Not even Dumbledore, back in the day. Just you."

Somehow, Sirius found himself smiling. "Yeah. I know."

"I needed to talk to you now because I know what he's going to do with the Dementors," Amanda continued. "He's been trying to breed them…"

------------

"So, how are things?" Remus dropped into the chair and immediately found a sixty pound, two and a half year old Siberian Husky in his lap. Grinning up at him.

"Oh, you know." Peter smiled lightly. "Getting Joe settled in has been the hardest part."

"I'm sure."

Remus watched his old friend carefully, knowing that Peter had an extreme gift for understatement. He'd grown into the quiet, hard worker of the Marauders, first at the Ministry and now in Hogsmeade, almost single-handedly arranging for dozens of families to move and several children's adoptions. Although Peter continuously gave Madam Rosmerta half of the credit, Remus knew that Peter had done almost all of the legwork _and _had worked hand in hand with the French while they resettled Laçenne. He was the force behind the scenes, no matter how often he sat comfortably on the sidelines and gave others credit.

Joe, however, stole Remus' attention by energetically licking the headmaster's face and yowling in his ear. Remus obliged the Husky by wrestling with him for a moment, and then deposited the dog back on the floor.

Only to have Joe leap back up into his lap. Remus chuckled, cuddled him for a moment longer, and then put him down again.

Joe jumped back up.

Four separate times.

"You think he senses the wolf in me, or does he just like to be difficult?" Remus asked when all four Siberian paws were finally (firmly) planted on the floor. Peter had a hard time answering though his laughter.

"Oh, he just likes to be difficult," the shorter wizard answered. "He'll do that with anyone who will let him get away with it. Kind of like Sirius."

Remus snorted. "In which case, Sirius definitely transforms into the _wrong _kind of canine. I can see him as a Husky."

"So can I, but then James and I would never have been able to tell you two apart," Peter snickered.

"Hey! I don't look like this." Remus scowled at Joe and got his face licked in return. He turned his most innocent look on Peter. "Do I?"

"Not really. But I always did like sitting between your pointy ears. I _would _have had a hard time deciding if Sirius'd had them, too."

Remus laughed and leaned back in his chair, savoring the moment. He'd come to visit Peter for no particular reason save to relax. Having one of his best friends in such close proximity to Hogwarts was _nice_. He'd never been precisely lonely at the school (there was far too much to keep him busy for that), but he did often feel disconnected. With James at Godric's Hollow and the Ministry, and Sirius on Avalon or Grimmauld Place, Remus often felt like he was on the outside looking in. Having Peter nearby, however, changed that.

And it was nice to have somewhere where he could have a butterbeer or a touch of Firewhiskey without the entire school whispering that the headmaster was a lush. Which he wasn't.

He just wasn't Dumbledore's age, either, and although Remus often felt every one of his thirty-three years, he _was _only thirty-three. And he wasn't about to act like he was over one hundred just because he was Hogwarts' headmaster.

"Something funny?" Peter asked.

"Other than Joe?"

Peter rolled his eyes. "I recognize that look on your face."

"What look?"

"Moony!"

Remus snickered. "Oh, _that _look. The 'I want to get drunk off my arse and forget myself' look?"

"Aha! That's it. I've caught you. I _knew _I knew that look." Peter grinned. "So, how 'bout it. Does the revered and responsible Moony want to act like he's still eighteen?"

"Twenty, maybe. Or twenty-five. Eighteen was before I knew how to effectively drink. Now I know how to properly pace myself so I can function in the morning."

"Good point." Peter flicked his wand, and a bottle of Ogden's Oldest flew onto the coffee table. Two glasses joined it a moment later. "Shall we?"

------------

By the time James' speech came onto the wireless, Remus and Peter were quite…_happy_. But neither was too drunk to use a Sobering Charm on himself (or in Peter's case, on Joe by accident before he managed to nail himself) and they turned on Peter's new blue wireless set to listen.

Some reporter was just finishing off her introduction to the speech as they tuned in. Neither really listened to her "canny" political analysis. They'd heard it all.

"'Least it's not Skeeter," Peter muttered. "Woman's a harpy."

"Don't insult the harpy community," Remus replied with a smile, slightly dizzy from the Sobering Charm. The feeling would pass in a moment. It always did.

"Good point. They deserve better than being lumped in with her." Peter scratched Joe's head absently and the dog yowled back. "But seriously, someone needs to bring her up on charges for massive slander. Frankly, I'm surprised James hasn't yet."

"Hard to keep the moral high ground when you bring a reporter up on charges."

"'Cept for the fact that most of the Wizarding community would thank him, 'cause if James put her out of business, we wouldn't have to read her trash."

"No one really believes her, you know," Remus pointed out reasonably.

"That's what _I _thought before I got into politics." Peter rolled his eyes. "You ought to hear what the Americans say when they read her articles. They think she's serious reporter, Moony. It's bad."

"Well, you know how Americans are. They're—"

"…and gentlemen, thank you for coming." James' voice blared out of the wireless as Peter's Instant Volume Charm kicked into effect.

"Shut up, he's on," Peter interjected redundantly. Remus just chuckled and kept his mouth shut. James' disembodied voice continued:

"I am, as always, pleased to bring good news to the Wizarding community at large." They could hear the smile in James' voice. "And today is better news than usual.

"As most of you have heard, the combined Aurors of the Alliance Against Evil struck a deadly blow against Voldemort just over a month ago, killing or capturing all but approximately thirty Death Eaters. Evidence shows that this number is holding steady. Accordingly, we can only assume that Voldemort has _not _managed to recruit additional followers—even the most opportunistic seem to realize that his is _not _the winning side."

Several voices started to shout questions, blurring together with the background noise, but James overrode them.

"Additionally, in cooperation with the French, Hogsmeade and Laçenne have been jointly resettled. Hundreds of brave witches and wizards—some coming from the four corners of the globe to assist those in need—have resettled the two communities that Voldemort destroyed. Together, they are sending a message that the world need fear no longer. We must be wary, for the war is _not _over, but we can now be certain that victory will come if we continue to fight for it."

Cheers in the background.

"Furthermore, I now must confirm the rumors of an attack on the Ministry. Fifteen days ago, two hundred and fifty-one Dementors attacked the Ministry of Magic. However, Ministry personnel and Aurors combined to work an experimental spell, _destroying _the Dementors."

James lowered his voice as the crowd finished gasping.

"I know what you're thinking. You're thinking that Dementors cannot be destroyed, only driven away. But you are wrong. Years of research led to this moment, and it has now been proven that Dementors _can _be killed. And they have been. We do not know how many of the foul creatures Voldemort has, but losing two hundred and fifty-one of them is certainly a blow.

"Finally, I must present to you the newest piece of information that the Ministry has learned. Contrary to years worth of rumors, Dementors cannot be bred. Voldemort has long since claimed to be breeding them, but we now know this is a lie. Dementors do not reproduce, and they never will."

A long moment of silence passed before the crowd started to roar. Vaguely, Remus heard James trying to say something else, but his voice was drowned out by the crowd. For several moments, Peter's wireless popped and crackled with cheers. Then the cheers abruptly faded, and the female reporter's voice blared out of the speakers again before Peter could kill the volume.

"In other news, longtime _Daily Prophet _correspondent Rita Skeeter has been fired. _Daily Prophet _administrators offered little comment, save to say that her interests and those of the company have diverged and that she will be looking for new work.

"Ms. Skeeter is not available for comment at this time, but can undoubtedly be trusted to let the Wizarding World know her side of the story soon."

The two Marauders exchanged smiles, and Peter turned the wireless off with a flourish. "Well. How about that."

------------

Long before Remus and Peter had finished that first bottle of Ogden's Oldest Firewhiskey, James joined them. Sirius was unavailable on Avalon (typical James to hint at the reason and refuse to give details), but the three of them celebrated and relaxed, enjoying spending time together. They got to do so far more rarely as they got older, as families and responsibilities and war got in the way. Gone were the days when four boys spent every waking moment side by side. They were still just as close, but life often increased the physical distance between them.

They did not have many meaningful conversations (at least not in the grand scheme of the universe. To the Marauders, differentiating between the different flavors, colors, and textures of every type of Wizarding candy ever made was very significant, even if they _had _grown up). There was no need. The objective today was to have fun, nothing more. And maybe to rib James just a little for the adoring crowd that had tried to tear souvenir pieces off of his robes off earlier that day. (Peter and Remus ribbed him about that one every five minutes or so, just to see James turn redder and redder each time. Remus had already made a mental note to tell Sirius so that they could mock James to the fullest.)

Somewhere during the evening, however, Peter turned serious.

"Sirius is going to try to face him without us, you know."

Remus sobered immediately. A quick glance at James revealed that he'd done the same. Still, a long moment passed before either of them could reply, and it was James who found his voice first.

"Yeah. We know."

Peter bit his lip. No one spoke.

There didn't seem a reason to. They all knew what they'd do.

------------

"There's another issue beyond the Dementors. Something you have to know about before it's too late."

Sirius arched an eyebrow. "Too late for what?"

"For you."

He sat back in his chair and studied her, for the first time wondering if this might be a trap. A ruse. The information Amanda had given him _seemed _genuine, but there was absolutely no way to verify it. Had Voldemort overplayed his hand this time? Anything was possible.

"I'm not sure I follow you," Sirius replied after a moment.

Dead green eyes focused on him. "He wants to kill you. And now he thinks he knows how."

Deep breath.

"Tell me everything."

------------

* * *

Ye Other Author's Note: If you're a member of the UU Yahoo Group, you know the reason for the delay between chapters (if not, and you're very curious, please trundle over there to find out). I am sorry for the drought, and look for PD36: "Against the End" coming up soon. In the meantime, please let me know what you think of this chapter! 


	37. Chapter 36: Counting the Cost

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_Chapter Thirty-Six: Counting the Cost_

* * *

Amanda had warned him that it was coming, and Sirius had told a few others. Thankfully, he'd not wasted any time in doing so; as matters turned out, he had only a few days to spare. But he did spend a few hours first thinking quietly on Avalon, sitting in his rooms there and asking himself _honestly _what his options were. Refusal wasn't one of them, so when he did share the information Amanda had leaked, he did so with his mind made up.

Alice, Frank, Bill and Hestia were coolly analytical about it and helped Sirius work the details of his plan out. James, Peter, and Remus were horrified and frightened, but after several hours of arguing and agonizing…they understood. James even conceded that Sirius' plan was better than available alternatives, painful though it would be. But Julia—Julia was devastated. She was collected and quiet, of course, but Sirius could see the fear in her eyes. Julia understood far too well.

But he had to go, and she understood, that, too. And Julia wasn't a bit surprised by the delivery method. No, her smile was bitter and hurt, and Sirius felt her hand tense in his as the cool voice interrupted the Weird Sisters' newest single playing on the WWN.

She wasn't so much worried about what was said as who said it, and Sirius could see the question in her eyes. The fear that everything an old friend had once told her had become a lie.

_Which side is he on?_

-----------

Severus Snape laid down the cold ultimatum in clipped tones, demonstrating no emotion whatsoever. His announcement overrode every program on every wireless station, and the talk shows played it and replayed it a hundred times over again by the end of that first day. Speculation ran wild, and by the end of the day, radio personalities and reporters alike were calling Severus Snape _"the Voice of the Dark Lord."_ But that was only after they'd worn out the _other _question.

_Will he go?_

-----------

The ultimatum was simple. Straightforward. Unforgiving. There were no questions to be asked save the one, and only one man could answer that. Only one man knew what was going to be done about:

_The Dark Lord holds one hundred and twenty-one children in Azkaban Prison. _

_Their ages range from four to twelve years old. _

_He requires Sirius Black or they will all die._

_Mister Black will surrender himself to the Dark Lord's messengers at two o' clock tomorrow afternoon._

_If he does not, a child's body will be delivered to the Ministry of Magic. One will be delivered every hour until this requirement is met._

_The Dark Lord's messengers will await Mister Black in the Atrium of the Ministry of Magic._

_That is all._

Voldemort's ultimatum created silence on the wireless like the Wizarding community had never experienced before. Shocked, reporters and commentators stayed silent. Theme music wore down to a stop. Everyone just…_stared_.

And no one dared tell Sirius Black what to do.

-----------

A crowd gathered outside the Ministry of Magic almost immediately, quiet and civilized—not an angry or violent group at all. Mostly, they wanted to see what would happen. What Sirius would choose. But no speeches were made. No ministers emerged to reassure the crowd, to ease the knowledge of such a horrid choice: loss of their hero, their hope…or the deaths of children, of the future. Opinions were divided. No one could decide. No information was forthcoming.

Press secretaries at the Ministry spent the day issuing various versions of "no comment" to every reporter in Wizarding Europe and many concerned citizens. They had no further answers to give, anyway; no one had seen Sirius Black since before the ultimatum had been issued. Lily kept a close eye on them (after all, the press secretaries were just as curious as everyone else) while James struggled to pretend that life went on. Fought to contain his worry. Tried to tell himself that everything would turn out all right, that the friend he'd sent to Azkaban once before would come out _again_.

Had James thought Voldemort would even consider it, he would have offered himself instead. Anything not to watch his best friend walk into hell again.

Eventually, he headed out to Avalon for the briefing.

-----------

"Operation ICEBREAKER TWO." Alice was giving the pre-mission briefing herself, which told every Auror in the room how important the mission was. Looking around, James saw anticipation on every young face. Even most of the old timers looked ready to do, expecting the operation to take place that evening or night. After all, one of the Aurors' oldest maxims was to do anything _other_ than what the enemy wanted you to do. If Voldemort wanted Sirius tomorrow, they figured that they'd give him an attack tonight.

"Those of you who were in the Aurors for the original Operation ICEBREAKER remember our target: Azkaban." There was no smile on Alice's face. Usually all business, Alice took seriousness and focus to a new level that day; something in her seemed to crackle dangerously. "ICEBREAKER TWO will have the same goal." A line drawing of the prison complex appeared on the wall behind Alice.

"Upon gaining access to Azkaban, we will split into four teams. Team One will be led by Hestia Jones and will be responsible for overall security and capture of any and all Death Eaters we come across. They will kill as necessary and keep the other teams safe.

"Team Two will be led by Frank Longbottom. Their focus will be rescuing the children and evacuating as soon as that is done. This team will be split into three subgroups, one for each of the three main cell blocks. Each subgroup leader will carry a Portkey that will transport the children _directly _to Avalon. Healers will be here on the island waiting for them and any Aurors who are injured in the assault. Auror Candidate Class 4906 will supervise the healers. Class 4907 will assist with the children as they arrive, providing food, blankets, and a change of clothes. Candidates Blinkey and Dantes will take names as the children arrive."

Alice paused and looked around for questions. There were none; only intense faces staring back at her. Everyone knew that this was a pre-mission brief; each team would go over the particulars later amongst themselves. But it was important for every Auror to know the overall plan, because oftentimes the smallest confusion was deadly. As the image on the board behind her zoomed out to show Voldemort's palace in addition to the prison, Alice continued:

"Meanwhile, Team Three will hunt Dementors. I will lead this team. We will take out other targets of opportunity as the situation allows. Our secondary duty is to support Team Four.

"Team Four will be led by Bill Weasley and Sirius Black, _if _Sirius is available. If Sirius is not, Team Four will fold into Team Three and hunt Dementors. If Sirius is capable, Team Four will hunt Voldemort."

The hush was sudden. James felt the tension flooding into the room, thick enough to taste in the air. And slowly, inevitably, all heads turned to stare at Sirius, who was leaning on the back wall. After a long moment of silence, the head Auror shrugged away from the wall and walked to the front of the room. He spoke as he moved:

"Voldemort will expect an attack tonight. He knows our tactics and our operational procedures as well as we do. Much of his ultimatum is _designed _to draw us out and into a place and situation of his choosing. By assaulting Azkaban tonight, we would play right into his hands. And we would die."

Everyone stared. James felt sick. _There's no avoiding it now._

"I will turn myself over to Voldemort's 'messengers' tomorrow afternoon. Stage One of ICEBREAKER TWO will commence when I do so. Stage Two will commence three days later when the rest of you hit Azkaban."

James could not believe how level and businesslike Sirius' voice was. Not too long had passed since James had been an active Auror, but he could not imagine facing Azkaban so calmly…especially given Sirius' previous experience. Judging from the look on the other Aurors' faces, they agreed with James.

Oscar Whitenack spoke up.

"What if he kills you during those three days?"

Sirius smiled slightly, knowing that he appeared more light hearted than he was. Knowing that he had to. "I'm betting that he won't. If he does, Stage Two will have to be scrapped and ICEBREAKER TWO will have to be reconfigured for employment on a later date," he replied. "However, I doubt he will kill me during the first three days. Three days should be enough to convince him that any plans we have working have failed and he has what he wants."

"Three days is an awful long time to spend in Voldemort's hands," Jason Clearwater pointed out quietly.

"True. But it's better than the alternative of letting children die." Sirius folded his arms across his chest and looked out at the worried faces. "Ladies and gentlemen, I'm not at all eager to hand myself to him. Frankly, I probably want to be there less than you want me to be. But this is our best chance to save lives _and _get into Azkaban. So I'll do it. I'll still be functional after three days."

He met James' eyes briefly and flashed his friend a quick smile.

"I will be your Portkey for the entrance to Azkaban. Experience has proven that Voldemort _can _and _will _identify any objects we can hide on a human being, so I will be going in without my wand. Bill will bring it with him for the assault.

"Your entrance point is variable because I am not certain where Voldemort will keep me. However, I will probably be in one of the highest security cells…here." Sirius turned and tapped the bottom row of cells on the map. "The other end of the Portkey will be my wand, which is why Team Four and Bill will be the last ones in. You will have to use the Key by teams or my cell will get awfully tight."

James noticed that Sirius skipped very neatly over what _Sirius _probably saw as the most trivial part of his brief. Every Auror in the room, however, knew that creating a Living Portkey was one of the most difficult spells to manage, and doing so without a wand almost guaranteed failure. Creating _any _Portkey was difficult (not to mention highly regulated by the Ministry, which certainly wouldn't be an issue in this case), but creating an exterior link _to _a person was extremely advanced magic. Sirius continued:

"The Portkey will _not _work unless I am in the cell. The assault is tentatively scheduled for midnight or later because even Death Eaters must sleep. But…we'll find out when we get there.

"Alice has briefed the rest. Are there any questions?"

-----------

She created the inevitable scene, kicking and screaming and hollering that she'd worked at the _Daily Prophet _for so many years and they had no _right _to dispose of her in such a cavalier manner. Looked at objectively, her diatribe was rather poetic, perhaps even worthy of publishing. But at the end of the day, Rita Skeeter no longer worked at the most prestigious of Wizarding Britain's newspapers.

She turned west and went immediately to the offices of _The Quibbler_. There, she was told that _The Quibbler_ only printed _facts _and wasn't interested in unscrupulous reporting. After throwing another tantrum, Skeeter Apparated back to Diagon Alley and tried _Witches Weekly_ for one last try. There, too, she was turned away. Even laughed at a bit.

The Wizarding publishing community was a close one, though Rita Skeeter had always been a bit of an outcast. Her self-absorbed arrogance assured thatBesides, though there were few rules—reporting was mostly a free for all—their tight-knit fraternity could only tolerate so much. For years, Skeeter had fabricated scandals for her own benefit. But now she'd crossed the unbreakable line.

There was a well-known axiom in the publishing business: no one was untouchable. Politicians were fair game. Famous figures made good targets. Children were easily exploited, and Quidditch players never knew when to shut up. Genuine heroes, however, were to be respected. Such figures came along rarely, and oftentimes the various sides of the media quadrangle could not even agree on what was defined as 'heroic'…let alone who was a hero. But when they did agree, that line existed. It was not to be crossed. _Real _heroes were untouchable.

And the Wizarding media was through with listening to Rita vilify Sirius Black. Enough, _Daily Prophet _editor Barnabas Cuffe was heard to say, was enough. If Rita wanted to continue her Black-bashing, she could go become a Death Eater and make a profession out of it.

She might have. Upon leaving the _Witches Weekly _offices, no one was sure where she headed. Only that she was gone.

-----------

"You're crazy, you know." Bill spoke as he approached where Sirius stood on the old Receiving Dock, looking northeast across the water.

Towards Azkaban.

Sirius smiled slightly, not bothering to turn as Bill stepped up to his side. "This is new?"

"I've tried this before, you realize. In the first ICEBREAKER. He found me out right away and played with me the rest of the time."

"I know, Bill." Sirius finally turned to face the younger Auror. He answered seriously because Bill deserved to have his concerns addressed—he had gone through a lot to try to make this mission work the first time around. "And I know he'll expect me to try something. But I have a few advantages you didn't then."

"All the same, it's one hell of a risk, Sirius. If we lose you…"

Sirius cut him off. Didn't want to hear the rest. "Yeah, it is. But this is also a chance to kill Voldemort, and I'll risk damn near anything for that. He's been avoiding me for months, been staying _safe_." He spat the last word and felt a predatory grin crease his face. "But not this time. Voldemort wants me, and he's going to get me."

"That's definitely the truth." Bill smiled wryly. "I didn't think I'd talk you out of it, but I figured that I'd try."

"James beat you to it." Sirius returned the smile and then looked back out over the water. James had also pointed out that Sirius was inhumanely calm about this and had been a bit worried about that. _And not worried without cause._ Yet this was the chance Sirius had been waiting for. The chance to get in close and maybe end the war once and for all. Voldemort feared him. Sirius had known that for some time but now the public did—or would. Sooner or later, the rest of the world was going to realize what Voldemort's ultimatum really signified: Sirius was a threat that Voldemort had to remove.

He didn't have a death wish, but Sirius figured that Voldemort's fear indicated that _Sirius _had a fighting chance. He'd take that.

James was nervous about that. Bill seemed to be, too. But Sirius saw no reason to keep putting off the inevitable encounter. He was as ready as he'd ever be, and it was time to do the job. _Before I lose any more of my friends to that monster._

"The sun's out," Bill said abruptly, jerking Sirius away from his darker thoughts.

Sirius jumped. "Is it?" He'd not noticed.

"Yeah. Strange."

For months, Avalon's weather had been exclusively gloomy, tending towards violent storms. The night before had hosted a mammoth thunder storm, with wind and rain pelting the Aurors' Island mercilessly. In fact, the weather on Avalon had vividly reminded Sirius of Azkaban ever since the storms had started during the previous fall, dark and gloomy, oppressive to an extreme. Even when the Aurors had managed Azkaban, the weather had been lousy. The prison and the Aurors' Island had been polar opposites back then: Avalon, clear and sunny; Azkaban, dark and miserable. This truth had held until the threat of Voldemort grew greater. As the war grew even more harsh, Avalon's weather began to mirror that of Azkaban. Now, after so many months of gloom, the Aurors were used to the darkness. But this—this was different.

He was suddenly reminded of reading Rowena Ravenclaw's _On Avalon_ long ago, back when he and Moody had returned to the island for refresher training. It had seemed like the least-read book in the library, so Sirius—still in his rebellious stage—had picked it up. No one ever expected him the rash and obnoxious "Black Sheep" to read a scholarly work, so of course he did. But he'd forgotten everything he'd learned over time.

Until now. Until the sun broke over Avalon and Sirius remembered that the Isle of Light's history ran deeper than the Aurors' presence upon her shores. The Aurors had existed in Britain since the Romans came forty-three years into the first millennium of the current age, but they had not come to Avalon until centuries later. Ravenclaw had only hypothesized about Avalon's origins and the isle's history, but she had maintained that the island was older than the Aurors and had a far deeper significance. One phrase stuck out in his mind, remembered from that long ago reading: _"Avalon is a barometer. As goes the World, so goes the Isle."_

So goes the Isle.

The sun was shining. He could hear birds singing.

As goes the world.

He was about to turn himself over to one of the most evil wizards in history in hopes of killing him. He was taking yet another rash chance and holding on for a miracle.

So goes the _world_?

Could that mean that the war was finally going to end?

-----------

He desperately wanted to talk to Julia. _Needed _to talk to someone who understood divided loyalties, conflicting obligations, and the base desire to survive. He'd recruited her for the Order, once. He had taught her to play both sides, sympathizing with his old friend when the decisions grew harder and harder. He'd _understood_, then, and badly needed someone to return that understanding now.

But Julia wouldn't understand. Couldn't. She'd chosen her side, for better or for worse. She'd stopped lurking _on _the line and had made her stand. They were no longer alike.

Not for the first time, Severus wished he hadn't stabbed Remus that stormy night. Wished he'd not believed himself when he'd known what he had to do.

Yet—he closed his eyes. Took a deep breath. "Regrets," Severus whispered to himself, "are for the weak minded."

Things had to be bad if he was talking to himself. Perhaps it was a sign of impending madness—Severus would not have been terribly surprised if that was the next stage of his life. He was accustomed to living under extreme pressure, but his present stress level had even him ready to buckle. The reaction was probably due to loneliness, Severus knew. No one really understood—least of all him. He had questions, but never any answers.

But he could take pen to paper.

_Julia,_

_Please do not disregard this letter because I am your enemy. I hope that _

_being__ your loyal friend will always come first._

_I know you love him, though I may never understand why. Do not let him _

_go__. The Dark Lord will kill him if he comes. I know Black well enough to _

_understand__ that he assumes that he will have time. He will not. The Dark _

_Lord grows more desperate every day._

_If you love him, do not allow this. Please understand that this is no idle _

_threat__. I fear for you._

_Your old friend,_

_Severus Snape_

-----------

They ate a quiet dinner together at Grimmauld Place, secreted away from reporters and curious stares. Sirius had thought about taking Julia out to Salamander's, but realized how cavalier that would look and changed his plans. Besides, the Floo had been going non-stop with requests for interviews, and Sirius wanted this one last night to be just them. Even the other Marauders stayed away. They understood. Just in case.

Julia was nervous, for understandable reasons. So was Sirius, and he knew that he'd be plagued by nightmares that night, if he managed to sleep at all. But Julia covered her unease rather well, managing to smile a little and even laugh from time to time. Still, tension simmered under the surface. There was no point in denying what tomorrow might bring.

They talked little about his choice. Julia knew Sirius well enough to only try talking him out of it once; she understood that _this _risk would have to be taken sooner or later… Like Sirius, however, she wished the day for it came much later. Earlier, Bill might have gotten the impression that Sirius made the choice flippantly, that he was eager to face death and sacrifice everything. And maybe he was. But sitting on the couch with Julia, he was only conscious of how very much he stood to lose.

Conversation centered on innocent topics for hours, but as the evening wore on, the focus was inevitable.

"I wish you wouldn't go," Julia said softly, one last time. She was nestled in crook of his arm, held comfortably against Sirius' chest.

"Me, too." Sirius kissed the hop of her head, struggling to keep his tone light. "But I'm coming back. I promise."

"I—" Her voice finally cracked. "I'm afraid to hope."

"I know. But I know I'm coming back. Do you know why?"

Her laugh was somewhat forced. "Because you're stubborn, obnoxious, and indestructible?"

"There _is _that." Sirius smiled. "But also because I'm going to marry you. If you'll let me."

Julia gasped. Her entire body jumped against his.

Sirius slipped off the couch, dropping to one knee and taking both of her hand sin his own. "I know it's not a conventional proposal. I know it's bad timing. But I love you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you, and I don't want to wait until I come back to let you know that it is my intention." He stared into her startled gray eyes. "And that's my promise to you. I'll come back. For you."

"No." The longest heartbeat of Sirius' life ticked by as the devilish smirk creased Julia's face. "Not unless you give me a ring, anyway."

A wild laugh escaped Sirius until he cut it off by kissing her. He felt drunk, numb, and like he was flying. But this was better than flying. Julia always had been.

She pulled back to grin in his face.

"The ring, you overgrown adolescent."

And Sirius gave it to her, the product of two months of searching and being shot down by Lily every time. He'd finally settled on a Aesalon family heirloom that he found buried in his Gringotts' vault. The Aesalons were long extinct. But both the Malfoys and Blacks had strong blood ties to them. The ring was over four hundred years old, yet looked brand new. It seemed a good summary of everything Sirius and Julia had grown into…and all their blood demanded they be. A ring from a time before lines were drawn and wars began. Unity mattered.

The ring was perfect. So was the moment.

-----------

Julia didn't get the letter until the next day.

------------

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Ye Other Author's Note: Thank you for all the wonderful feedback on the last chapter—it certainly encouraged me to make time and get this one out sooner than I might have! Stay tuned for PD37: "Losing What You'll Never Get Back," and please continue to let me know what you think! ReviewsCookies for Authors. And me like cookies. 


	38. Chapter 37: Losing What You'll Never

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_Chapter Thirty-Seven: Losing What You'll Never Get Back_

* * *

They formed a united front, perhaps for the last time. No one said as much, but they all knew—Sirius might have just departed Grimmauld Place for the final time, leaving behind Julia wearing her silver, ruby, emerald, and sapphire ring. James, Peter, and Remus congratulated her as if nothing was wrong, and her smile was genuine. But they all knew.

The Marauders entered the Atrium together. Tension sizzled in the air as dozens of reporters and hundreds of Ministry workers and civilians crowded the area, but a hush fell over the multitude as the Marauders emerged. James knew that he was calmer than almost everyone there and was hardly surprised, even if his heart was pounding _almost _loudly enough to drown out the former noise of the crowd. Remus, of course, seemed unflappable, but there was worry in his blue eyes—he looked _old_. Peter was far better off than he would have seemed years before, but James could see the fingers of his right hand working as he wished for a wand. Sirius, however, appeared completely unfazed.

James would never forget the way Sirius looked that day, and was fairly certain that the image was burned into the minds of everyone watching. But for James, the reason for the strong memory was the transition. The change.

He _knew _Sirius. Knew the carefree boy-turned-Auror who had made a choice borne of loyalty and ended up in Azkaban. James had seen the haunted man who emerged, grappling with psychological scars caused by years of torture. He had then watched the fragile and solemn Sirius transform into the steely-eyed warrior who _chose _to be Voldemort's bane. And then he'd seen the old Sirius creep back in, watched as Sirius struggled to regain the man he had been and merge that with who the world needed him to be. James knew the smile was real, now, even though it had been forced a few months before. He knew that Sirius was again and finally the man he wanted to be. But the crowd didn't know that.

The crowd saw the fearless warrior, Voldemort's worst nightmare. They saw what they needed to see: Sirius in Auror's robes, relaxed, confident, and unafraid. They saw James, Peter, and Remus striding by his side, seemingly certain that everything would be all right. _When did four wide-eyed school boys become heroes? At what point did we become jaded enough to abandon heroic dreams, only to discover that _we _are now those upon which our world depends? The romance of being heroes has faded. _

But they'd made their choices.

Eyes wide open and knowing the risks, each Marauder had chosen his own path. No one had needed to warn them that choices were dangerous—they knew. And James remembered: _"I'm going to become an Auror, James. I'm really going to do it."_

_"What about your family? They haven't _all_ disowned you yet, but this will do it for sure."_

_The ever-present grin was absent from Sirius' face. "I don't care. I ran away from that already. I'm not looking back."_

_"I'm almost envious." He said 'almost,' but James _was _jealous. Horribly so. Each of the Marauders had toyed with the idea of becoming an Auror more than once, but James, Peter, and Remus had found other paths. Leave it to Sirius, the most reckless of all, to pick the serious route. No pun intended, of course._

_"Why? You've got the Quidditch contract, the thing every kid dreams of."_

_"It's not the same. I feel like I could be doing more."_

Not much had changed in that respect. Again, he was watching Sirius stride into danger. Again, James was a few steps behind. _I feel like I should be doing more._

Bellatrix Lestrange and Narcissa Malfoy were waiting for him, two beautifully sculpted and immaculately attired examples of old Wizarding blood. Both wore Death Eater robes but no masks, looking stern and focused: perfect Death Eaters. Identical blue eyes watched the Marauders and the crowd closely; blue eyes in that famous Black blue. The sisters' presence could not have been accidental.

James' heart leapt when he saw the third Death Eater standing behind Bellatrix and Narcissa. Arms crossed and looking foreboding, Severus Snape's black eyes glared coolly out at Sirius, completely ignoring everyone else. He was no longer the greasy Hogwarts professor, however. Dressed in expensively tailored black robes, Snape appeared younger and better groomed than James had ever seen him.

His heart thundered in his chest. This was it. If Snape was going to act for the Order, this would be the moment. Do or die. _Choose your side, Snivellus. _

-----------

_Screaming in pain._

_"You know—"_

_Dementors stampeding.__ An island burning._

_"And had __things been just a little different—"_

_Blue eyes fading to red.__ Red eyes merging blue._

_Blackness._

_"I might have been you."_

-----------

Startled, Remus met Severus' eyes, knowing they'd shared the vision. _Shared _it. But those bottomless black eyes gave nothing away, not even recognition. There was no emotion. No regret. No indication that Snape had even experienced a vision, let alone shared one. No sign that he gave a damn.

Sirius stopped about twenty feet distant from the Death Eaters and stood there for several long seconds without moving. Trying not to fidget, Peter fought the urge to grab for his wand, needing it to make himself feel better. James and Remus were both ready for action; Peter could tell from their suddenly tense body language and the way they stood. But Sirius' movements gave nothing away. He might as well have been a statue.

Peter envied his calm. Outward control had taken the smallest Marauder a lifetime to learn, but inside was another matter. His stomach lurched every other breath, full of acid and butterflies. Like James, he was praying that Snape would prove to be the ally they'd all naively assumed he'd always be—but Peter had his doubts. He knew how seductive the life of a Death Eater could be for a lonely man. Power. Security. Brotherhood. _Safety._ Furthermore, he saw no doubt in Snape's eyes. Saw no regrets.

Moment of truth.

-----------

Sirius, on the other hand, had no such hopes. No expectations.

"I'll go on alone from here," he told his friends quietly.

He could feel their tension at his back and had to fight the urge to turn and reassure them one last time. Could feel the muted and determined fear his best friends felt. But Sirius would be strong for them. He didn't care much about the crowd right now, even as they stared and hoped and feared. _They _were only concerned with his image, but he'd always fought for his friends. Fought so that they'd _nev__er _have to go where he'd been and lose what he'd never get back.

Sirius stepped forward.

It was time, and they were waiting. Interesting how Voldemort had not come himself; did he fear that his presence would drive Sirius to do something rash? That thought almost made the Auror snicker. Voldemort had never been able to understand Sirius. Never had wrapped his mind around the fact that though Sirius' sense of honor did not match the Dark Lord's bloody vision of old world privilege and homage, he was a man of his word. He'd proved it more than once, and Voldemort ought to have figured that out by now. But he had a particular blind spot where Sirius was concerned.

Bellatrix smirked openly as Sirius approached, her blue eyes dancing with anticipation. Time spent with her would not be pleasant…but that was no surprise. Bellatrix had always enjoying causing pain; Sirius had plenty of experience with that.

Narcissa was the opposite, though her eyes were glowing with expectation as well. But the other Black sister wanted revenge. Revenge for Lucius' death, for shattering Cissa's carefully constructed perfect world. She wasn't the sadist Bella was; she didn't seem to enjoy tormenting others. In the end, however, the result was the same. Narcissa was also eager to put Sirius in Voldemort's hands.

_Nice family loyalty, ladies. What ever happened to Blood before all else?_

Sirius smiled nicely at both of them, correctly. He kept all amusement out of his eyes, stayed relaxed. This was anything but a game.

He nodded politely at Bellatrix. "Cousin."

She sneered, but he turned his face to Narcissa, nodding to her as well.

"Cousin."

The blonde Black gritted her teeth. "Sirius."

And then he was between them, standing face to face with Severus Snape from a little more than an arm's length away. Black eyes bored into blue, and Sirius also saw no regret. No emotion. Not even an inch of give. Snape was there as a symbol, just like Sirius was.

The low voice was silky smooth:

"Black."

"Snape."

Sirius stepped forward, removing his blue Aurors' outer robe as he did so. It puddle to the ground as he continued towards Snape, left breast up and Auror patch showing. The motto, stitched in small letters, was visible to the sister Death Eaters behind him. _Mors__ Ante Infamia_ Belatedly, Sirius hoped that they'd not read too much into the words. Bella wasn't the intellectual type, but Narcissa was as analytical as she was nasty, educated enough to figure out how appropriate the motto was.

_Death Before Dishonor._

"Your wand." Apparently, Snape wasn't in the mood to trust the dropped robe, the universal symbol of a wizard's disarmament.

"Left behind." Sirius smiled thinly. "I anticipate having little use of a wand in Azkaban. Unless you think I will be _permitted _one?"

Someone in the crowd cried out, and emotion whipped through the Atrium. Were the facts just now sinking in? Half of Sirius wanted to spin around and demandto know what they had _thought _he was facing. But the crowd understood now. One nearby witch looked ready to cry; the girl next to her was sniffling. Snape's answer made more gasps ring out.

"No. You will not."

Sirius nodded, still watching Snape's eyes. The damn man was unreadable. Voldemort he could predict. Snape…Snape was something else.

"Turn around," the Death Eater ordered calmly.

Sirius did so, praying that Voldemort had not decided to do the smart thing, that Snape would not slap him in the back with a Killing Curse right then and be done with it. Bellatrix was staring at him hungrily. Narcissa watched him closely, her right hand tucked inside her robe and on her wand.

A heavy had landed on Sirius' left shoulder, held firmly.

"Put your hands behind your back."

Heart pounding, Sirius complied. If they were going to kill him, this would be the moment. If Sirius died, it would be a public spectacle. Otherwise, he'd live at least a day. _I can withstand _anything _at least that long._ The sting of pain refocused his mind on the present.

Magic Suppression Cuffs closed hard on his wrists a split second after Snape's hand left his shoulder, tight enough to immediately make Sirius' fingers go numb. Pain shot up his arms, and he winced slightly. The DMLE used the same cuffs on prisoners, but there were laws against setting the shocks so high or tightening the bands so much. Slight tremors shook his arms as Snape nudged the pain level still higher, forcing a hiss to escape from between Sirius' clenched teeth. Then the shaking leveled out. At least Snape hadn't increased the shocks so far that Sirius landed convulsing on the ground. He had no doubt that he would end up there if he fought—the cuffs were designed to disable resisting prisoners. But Sirius had no intention of resisting now. He'd save his battles for later.

Snape's hand gripped his shoulder once more. "Do not resist the Apparation."

Interesting that they thought he could. Could Voldemort?

Sirius nodded and braced himself.

Then they were gone.

-----------

Distraction was hard to find. The Aurors had three days to wait, and they all were searching for something to do, aside from going over the plan for ICEBREAKER TWO again and again. One could only study a plan so many times, so Bill and Tonks wandered into the library to do research. Classes 4906 and 4907 were in reduced training mode, preparing rooms for children and spaces for healers, so the instructors had time off. Which had started their discussion in the first place.

Like Sirius, Bill had turned to _On Avalon _to research the island's weather phenomenon. Outwardly, the weather seemed a foolish topic to get wrapped up in, especially considering the situation. But the weather had been even more than extraordinary that morning. One hour of violent storms had interrupted a bright and sunny day…and then vanished. There was significance to that. There had to be. But Bill's head started pounding shortly after he started puzzling, and now he was reduced to rubbing his temples and wishing the feeling would go away. _Stop it. Concentrate._

He sighed. _And read the darn thing again. There's got to be something there._

"Take a look at this, Bill."

He looked up from _On Avalon_ after rereading for the third time the vague passage in which Avalon's weather was mentioned…once. "Take a look at what?"

"Here." Tonks extended a single sheet of parchment to him; for the first time, Bill noticed that she had a stack of similar sheets piled up in her lap, facing every which direction, some folded and some not. The book she'd been reading earlier was nowhere in sight, though Bill hadn't noticed her get up. Now she was practically buried in parchment of various shapes, colors, and conditions. Bill blinked, and then looked again. Most of the papers looked older still than _On Avalon._

He accepted the offered sheet and squinted at it in confusion. "What is this?"

"Sorry." His partner smiled sheepishly. "It's in Latin. Archaic Latin, even, real old. I can only read it because I inherited Dad's ancient languages and British history obsession."

"All right…so what does it say? I know runes, tombs, and mazes, but not this."

Tonks reddened. "Yeah. My mistake. It's a history…more appropriately a diary. Notes, maybe. I can't tell who wrote them, but by the language they're from the last century or so of the Roman occupation of Britain." She cleared her throat, embarrassment vanishing as she spoke more confidentially. "I can't tell who wrote them, though I'm guessing that it was a witch by the language. The pages—though they are out of order, which is a giant _pain_—detail a 'history of the Twin Islands.' The name of the second island is not mentioned, but I am almost certain that it is Azkaban."

"And the first is Avalon."

"Yes. Under five or six different names, but Avalon seems to be the oldest. Either way, the 'Twin Islands', or whatever we want to call them, are made out to be literal opposites: one dark, one light. Each suited to its purpose. Neither is a true island, either; they've apparently moved several times throughout the years. The one we now call Azkaban was even once thought to be Hell. And Avalon used to be in a lake somewhere near Glastonbury."

"Fascinating. But that doesn't tell me anything about the weather."

"Nope. Nothing more than Ravenclaw's barometer reference, though I think that the issue may not go deeper. We weren't careful enough to record the weather fluctuations, but now that I think about it, the storms always come when something is going badly with the war. The weather was crummy when things were worst. Does that make sense?"

"I suppose, though I keep looking for a deeper reason." Bill shrugged. "How does Azkaban fit into this?"

"Well, that's the interesting part." She glanced down and rooted through the pages until she found the one she was looking for, and then pointed at a darkly written passage at the top of the page. "I can't find page one of this, but if this is right…Azkaban is the reflection of Avalon. And if 'darkness' leaves Azkaban or 'light' leaves Avalon…they merge."

Bill blinked. "Merge?"

"Merge. As in cease to exist. As in gone. One island." Tonks sucked in a deep breath. "My feeling is that was what the storms were warning us about. That if things continued as they were, we were going to end up with one island: Azkaban."

"And the storms this morning?"

"I don't know. I wish I did, but now that the sun's out…there's no way to tell. Maybe things will stay the way things are. Or Avalon might cease to exist. It could go either way."

-----------

There was something deeply frightening about being back on Azkaban and unable to fight back. Closely surrounded by Death Eaters—three others had been waiting when Sirius and his cousins appeared—and still constrained by the Magic Suppression Cuffs, Sirius felt more helpless than he had in…a long time. _Not long enough_. As much as he could usually distance himself from his experiences, being back on Azkaban brought back the memories.

Too many memories.

For a moment, he was tempted to lose himself in them. To just _let _the Dementors lurking—lurking just out of sight but not out of sensory range—influence him into spiraling out of control and into pain and fear. Or he was tempted to just sink into the darkness once again, to feel the comfort of not-so-pure power rushing through him and _demanding _that other evils submit themselves to it. Vanquishing one darkness through use of a greater evil was simple…until one kept looking for something darker and stronger to overcome each new fear.

But, no. He'd moved beyond that and would not go back. Not now, and not ever. Sirius had made _that _choice, too, and even if it meant that he'd be more afraid, more cornered, he would hold to his decision. Sirius Black was going to be Sirius Black, now and forever. He was not going to let himself sink further and further into darkness simply because that was the easiest way to defeat it.

And then Voldemort was standing in front of him.

"Sirius. It has been a long time."

"Not long enough." A long heartbeat passed before Sirius turned a blinding grin on the Dark Lord. "Hello, Tom."

Fury flashed in the red eyes, but the other did not comment. But Sirius saw the tension in the pale features, saw the effort it took to remain still, and he knew he'd scored a point. _A low blow, perhaps, but still a blow.__ My response, and his reaction, do put things in perspective. _Another long moment passed as they simply _stared _at each other, and then Voldemort smiled slightly. Mockingly.

"The uniform is a nice touch."

He didn't smile this time. "It reminds me what I stand for."

"I see."

Without warning, the Magic Suppression Cuffs dropped off of Sirius' wrists, their constant stinging pain vanishing. He barely fought back the urge to shudder in relief, but did bring his hands around in front of his body to rub his sore wrists.

"I hardly think those are necessary. Do you disagree?" Voldemort asked when Sirius said nothing. Belatedly, the Auror realized that the Dark Lord had expected to be thanked. _Oops._

"You never know," he retorted. "I'm awfully obnoxious."

"Do not test me, Sirius. I can easily arrange for even less pleasant accommodations."

He crossed his arms and looked up at the taller wizard. "When have I _not _tested you?"

Soft laughter was the last thing Sirius had expected, but it was what he got. Voldemort even smiled. Slightly.

"If I ask you to join me for lunch, will you conduct yourself in a civilized manner?" the Dark Lord asked pointedly. "There are options I would discuss with you."

"I hardly see that we have anything to talk about."

"Ah, but _I _do, Sirius. Would you begrudge me a polite conversation?"

He was distinctly and disturbingly reminded of Grindelwald in that moment, which made Sirius wary. Voldemort was at his most dangerous when he wasn't angry—angry, he made mistakes. Rage was a tool that _this _Dark Lord liked to use, but hardly his most dangerous one.

"I suppose not."

"Come."

They swept side by side through the hallways of Azkaban, passing by children huddled in back corners of dark cells. Sirius was certain that what he saw was intended to make an impression upon him, and it did. Anger boiled up quickly; he had a hard time wrapping his mind around the fact that even Voldemort would keep children in such conditions; thinking of what those boys and girls faced on a daily basis made him sick. He shuddered, noticing out of the corner of his eye as a four or five year old girl threw herself back from the bars as they passed, shaking in fear. Sirius knew that his revulsion showed on face, and he didn't care. Voldemort would consider his sentimentality a weakness, but he did not care. The dozens of fearful eyes watching them made Sirius want to lash out, to make his stand now, no matter how fruitless a battle would have been.

Knowledge that there _was _a better plan was the only thing that stopped him. _Three days, _he promised the children silently. _Three more days, and I swear this will stop._ Not a single set of eyes watching them held a shred of hope.

_Just give me three more days._

A few strides later, they left the prison portion and entered Voldemort's domain. Contrary to popular belief, Voldemort's palace was simply and luxuriously furnished, undoubtedly designed to create the impression of an ancient lord's modern palace, emphasizing Voldemort's Gaunt lineage and his place in the Fourteen.

Nevermind that the half-blood Tom Marvolo _Riddle_ had squeaked into the Fourteen via Grindlewald's influence and had proceeded to conceal his lack of pure blood. Voldemort wasn't the first member of the Fourteen in history to conceal dirty blood, of course. Nearly every family had done so at one time or another, else they'd not have survived at all. Even knowing that, however, Voldemort's Azkaban palace was a bit much.

Sirius supposed that the décor had been chosen to contrast the prison, even as it accentuated Voldemort's nobility. He also supposed that even a Dark Lord needed to distance himself from misery and pain every now and then. If he had constantly fed on such dark emotions for so many years, Voldemort would have been even more insane than he already was.

And there were times when Voldemort was frighteningly sane indeed.

Polished wooden doors opened as they approached, revealing a pushily furnished dining room. Sirius stepped through the doorway without hesitation, Voldemort right behind him.

_Let the games begin._

"Join me, Sirius." The Dark Lord gestured graciously at the leather chair on the near side of the feast-laden table.

Sirius did not reply, but he did take a seat; Voldemort settled in comfortably across from him, smiling a slightly triumphant smile.

"You are more relaxed than I anticipated."

The red eyes were glowing with anticipation.

Sirius shrugged. "I don't expect you to poison me. It's not your style."

"Correct." A low chuckle. "There are so many more efficient ways to accomplish my goals."

"And those goals are?"

"Patience, my friend." Now the smile turned slightly mocking. Testing.

"No." Sirius let the word hang in the air for several long seconds. "Let's not play games. We have moved beyond that by now."

"Very true." But Voldemort did so love toplay games; Sirius had endured them for years. Unlike Grindelwald, however, Voldemort preferred to be the only player on the board. He did not relish a skilled opponent; he sought to destroy them.

_And _that _has brought you here, hasn't it? Any more bright ideas, Sirius?_

His irritation framed his reply. "What do you want, Voldemort?"

"That is the question, is it not?" A beatific smile. "I suggest you enjoy the lunch, Sirius. It's quite good."

"And it might be my last?" he shot back.

"If you continue in this vein, yes." Anger finally sharpened the Dark Lord's voice. Sirius could not resist a grin.

"Oops."

For a moment, he thought the game was up. Voldemort almost came out of his chair, hand on his wand and bloodlust in his eyes. Sirius braced himself for the inevitable, knowing that dodging was useless and wishing he'd not left his wand behind. Then the moment passed and Voldemort settled back down. Several long heartbeats ticked by before the Dark Lord speared him with an irritated gaze.

"Your immaturity is vexing."

Sirius shrugged again. "It's what I am."

"Yet you could be so much more."

_Here it comes._ Voldemort's demeanor had changed, his anger vanished. The red eyes were focused, now, even earnest. Enticing. The full force of Tom Riddle's charisma hit Sirius head on, and that was a power beyond magic, both stronger and weaker than any spell. Generations of witches and wizards had allowed themselves to be pulled under by that magnetism, _believing _that this man could do anything.

Even Sirius felt the undeniable pull.

"Is that so?" he replied after taking a deep breath, keeping his voice level.

"Yes."

Heartbeat.

"I offered you a unique opportunity years ago," Voldemort continued softly. "I offered you the world because I recognized in you what you have now discovered. I saw strength and power beyond what you had. You refused me then, Sirius, because you did not understand.

"But now you have become greater. You have risen above mundane wizardry and tasted true power. I now offer you the opportunity to continue to do so. Life instead of death. Power instead of pain."

"No." The answer was easy.

"You answer too quickly, old friend." Voldemort smiled softly. "You've not considered the possibilities. I know you have read my journal. Once, you vowed to _become what I am_. And so you have.

"I do not offer you servitude: I offer you _partnership. _Together, we can rule the world. We can heal the rifts in our society. We can stop the war. We can forge a lasting peace." Blue glinted in Voldemort's red eyes, drawing Sirius deeper and deeper. "We can stop the endless cycle of Dark Lords and the heroes who rise to face them, of bloodshed and war. Throughout history, _no one _has had the opportunity we have now. No two opponents have been as alike as you and I are."

Despite himself, Sirius did not reply. Voldemort's words were magnetic, incredible. Unexpected. Dizzying.

"Before you refuse me, consider how we can change the world together. Consider lasting peace. Consider _making a difference._"

Those were his words. Did Voldemort know that?

_"I want to make a difference, James," he'd said the night before reporting to Avalon for his first day of Auror training, back when James had been a professional Quidditch player and Sirius just a charming rake. "I want to do something right."_

"It's the right thing to do, Sirius."

His words again. Was Voldemort pulling them right out of his thoughts? Legilimency or the odd balance between them was giving his opponent an edge. Sirius hadn't let his guard down, but Voldemort had snuck in somehow—the moment he realized that, the fog cleared. His mind focused.

"No." The first word was the hardest. "It's not."

Voldemort blinked.

"Paint us how you will, but we are enemies for a reason. And I'll always stand against you."

The blue edges in the red eyes vanished. Voldemort sat back.

"Very well."

A heartbeat passed.

"You will regret this." The hint of a cruel smile.

"Possibly," Sirius allowed. "But I doubt it."

"Then it begins."

-----------

Exactly one hour too late, Julia crumbled up the letter and stared at her hands. Her left hand, in particular. The right held the crumbled up letter, and she didn't want to think about that.

She squeezed her eyes shut for several moments, struggling to control the whirlwind of emotions tearing through her. Struggling not to cry from worry, frustration, fear, or rage. Desperately wanting to scream at the universe that it wasn't _fair._

She no longer cared why the letter had been so many hours delayed. Oh, at first the thought had occurred to her, but it did not matter. Too late was too late. When Julia finally opened her eyes, the tears did not fall.

"You _bastard_."

-----------

The Dark Lord was not to be disturbed—today, especially, of all days. Not even in a dire emergency. He was otherwise…occupied until further notice was given.

So they brought her to Snape, who could not hold back a sneer of contempt.

"How did _this_ make it to Azkaban?" he demanded acidly, glaring at Narcissa Malfoy.

Alas, the stare that would have withered other Death Eaters only made her smile demurely. "She bothered me to the point of distraction, so I have brought her here _as requested._"

Severus turned his glare on Rita Skeeter and she shrank back in a rather satisfactory manner. Apparently, perfectly coiffed hair and stylish robes did not build her courage up much. _She's shaking, and yet she asked to come here. This is not one of Narcissa's games._

"What do _you _want?" he snapped. "This is no place for reporters."

"Clearly!" Skeeter retorted. "If it were I would not have been treated in such a—"

_"Crucio."_

Skeeter collapsed into a screaming mess, and Severus heard Narcissa's appreciative snicker to his right. And it was _satisfying._ Skeeter had it coming in so many ways—but he withdrew the curse after only a few seconds. Severus did not enjoy causing pain enough to savor the moment.

Narcissa hauled the reporter to her feet, swaying, panting, and shaking. Severus waited patiently for Skeeter's eyes to clear before speaking slowly and clearly:

"What possessed you to come to Azkaban, fool?"

She was obviously insulted but managed to contain herself. She spoke with a surprisingly level voice: "I came to chronicle He-Who—the Dark Lord's victory. My influence in the publishing community will be of great assistance to your Master. I will force the world to see him as he is and not as—"

"Evil," Severus finished. Narcissa chuckled softly.

"Exactly, I—"

Narcissa cut her off in a purr. "But we _are _evil, Rita. The Dark Lord most of all." Her grin grew wicked. "I told you that you shouldn't have come here."

"Yet even evil needs someone to record events," Skeeter objected tightly. "History is written by the winning side. I can help you."

"I'm sure," Severus replied softly. "Your loss of standing in the publishing world has nothing to do with your presence here. You simply desire to become a loyal and stalwart Death Eater."

She paled. "I—"

"No matter. The Dark Lord will decide your fate."

"My…fate?"

She was such a coward. Thankfully, Narcissa saved Severus from having to formulate a reply.

"I will remain with her and await our Master's pleasure."

He smiled thinly. "Indeed."

-----------

Sirius had been sorely tempted to resist his move to Interrogation Room One, to draw Voldemort into that end-all battle now and try to finish everything in one glorious moment. But he didn't. Patience would pay off, whole even a small amount of resistance would cost him. The use of any magic without a wand would reveal his hand for what it was, would demonstrate skills Sirius had no intention of displaying. _Not yet, anyway._ He was guarding his thoughts carefully, now, aware that Voldemort could dig around in his mind when Sirius lost focus. All Aurors were trained in Occlumency, and Sirius had always been one of the best. But the effects of the Distance Seeing Enchantment still lingered, and Voldemort had a window into his mind if Sirius dropped his guard.

So he'd been passive and allowed himself to be herded to the familiar Interrogation Room. He'd maintained control when Dementors strapped him into the Interrogation Chair and had managed not to scream when the chains burned into his flesh. Sirius had even held back the screams during those first crucial minutes, stretching almost to an hour before he allowed his body to go wild with pain. By that point, Sirius knew that he had met or exceeded Voldemort's expectations, so he let himself go.

He could have held out longer. Possibly for the entire three days. But that was not his purpose. Not now.

It was only pain, after all. Sirius had become intimately familiar with pain throughout his first decade in Voldemort's hands. He had learned how his body reacted, how far he could push himself. Furthermore, his studies had taught him even more about pain, lessons even Voldemort could probably never grasp. Sirius had learned to distance himself from the torture.

A long time ago, he'd used his Animagus form to do so. Now he understood how to do so without Padfoot.

His body still suffered, but at least he was sane, protected—until a sudden stop to the pain brought reality crashing back in.

Sirius screamed again, even after the curse was withdrawn. Doing so relieved nothing; mental distance did not insulate his body at all. But he could still blink his eyes open, dizzy but focused. Slowly, his vision cleared to reveal Snape sharing a whispered conversation with Voldemort. His ears were ringing too loudly to make out a word.

After a moment, Severus stepped away, sweeping towards the doorway. But he paused there in the exact same moment Voldemort turned his back on the Potions Master. Snape met Sirius' eyes.

No words were exchanged. They barely had a second to spare. No mental messages passed between the two old enemies. They just exchanged glances and understood one another. Sirius saw decision in the other man's eyes, and then Snape was gone.

The pain resumed within seconds.

-----------

Snape closed the door with a click and met Narcissa's eyes. "She dies."

Skeeter gasped. He ignored her.

Narcissa stepped out of range as Severus raised his wand. Skeeter babbled something, and he almost paused to tell the reporter that she was lucky that he did not revel in pain and would make this fast. Had he handed her to Bellatrix—busy gloating on the other side of the closed door—Skeeter might have taken days to die. She—

Was gone.

Narcissa swore and grabbed for her wand, but Severus' eyes were searching. Skeeter had not the ability to break through the Anti-Apparation wards. No one did.

There was a scratching noise near his feet, and Severus glanced down. When he saw that it was only a beetle, his head snapped up to resume the search…until intellect caught up with action. Without hesitation, he brought his heel crunching down on the beetle. Very precisely, as he preferred quick deaths.

------------

* * *

Ye Other Author's Note: Thanks again for reading, and please do review! Stay tuned for PD38: "Watching the Lines Blur," in which Sirius' troubles magnify, James makes an arse out of himself, and Death Eaters attempt to defect. Until next time! 


	39. Chapter 38: Watching The Lines Blur

**Promises Defended**

* * *

_Chapter Thirty-Eight: Watching The Lines Blur_

* * *

"I want to come with you." 

Alice Longbottom was one of those people who looked uncomfortable everywhere, and James' office was no exception. Perched in a thickly-cushioned chair and outwardly relaxed, she still looked ready to spring into battle at any moment. Age had only sharpened her edges, too; although James had counted Alice amongst his friends for many years, he had never seen her as hard as she had been these past few months.

"Don't be ridiculous. You're the Minister of Magic." Age certainly hadn't softened her razor tongue, either.

James scowled. "I'm also current on my Auror certifications. You know that—hell, Alice _you _requalified me! I'm perfectly capable, and you're going to need all the help you can get in Azkaban."

"Good points. You're still not coming."

"I'm your boss. I can order you to let me go," James shot back.

"Sirius is my boss. And I can just not tell you when we're leaving. Or I'll tell you the wrong time," Alice retorted. "Don't start this fight with me, James. You'll lose."

"I'll—" James bit back the angry response, drawing in deep breaths until he regained control. "Why?"

Alice sighed. "Leaving aside that you're the Minister of Magic, you're also one of the most powerful wizards of our age. The old families don't often throw out wizards like you and Sirius these days, and risking both of you in the same assault is foolish." She skewered him with a penetrating stare. "This isn't a do-or-die, risk-all/end-all situation, you know. If we fail—even if, God forbid, Sirius dies—we'll have another chance."

"But you need me for that chance." James felt numb.

"Yeah. Pretty much."

He had to groan. "I hate being a politician." _And I hate risking my friends' lives, but Alice knows that. _The sour look on his face made her snort, and James scowled at Alice again. "I'll be good. I promise."

"You'd better." Alice rose. "I've got to finish planning. If nothing changes, we'll go tonight."

A lump rose in his throat. "Good luck."

It was all James could say, and he didn't hear Alice's reply. He was too wrapped up in worry to care. Sirius had been gone for over forty-eight hours now, and James could hardly imagine how bad it was. _Don't think of that now!_ James had spent the last two days with his imagination running wild, thinking of Sirius. Now, with less than twelve hours to go, was not the time.

-----------

_May 8th, 1993_

**TWO DAYS GONE**

_by_ Dora Markham, _Junior Correspondent _

The Wizarding World held its breath when Sirius Black turned

himself over to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, hoping against

hope that such a brave wizard would not die before our very

eyes. We breathed a little easier when he did not, yet feared still

more when he was taken away.

Rumors out of the Ministry of Magic indicate that the head Auror

was taken to Azkaban, formerly the Ministry's prison and now

He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's private island. Some call it his

private hell.

It's been two days, now, two days since he was taken. And

nothing has happened.

The Ministry and the Aurors remain quiet. While the public

assumed that Minister of Magic James Potter would do

everything possible—and perhaps even the impossible—to

retrieve his best friend…nothing has happened.

Will the Aurors sacrifice one of their own? Has the Ministry

decided to let a hero rot?

If that is the case, let this be a call to action. Let the government

know that people are not prepared to watch a hero die. We

expect action, and will settle for nothing less.

-----------

"Yeah." Bill glanced up at Frank after reading the article. "I think this ought to do it."

Frank grinned back. "Dora picked up Rita Skeeter's job after the _Prophet _fired her. This is her first major article."

"And major it is," Bill agreed. "I take it that no one told them that her mother's maiden name was Longbottom?"

"I guess she must have forgotten to put that on the application." Frank shrugged innocently. "But I think the article will help."

"I agree. It won't make a gigantic difference, but any little difference counts. If Voldemort thinks we're not ready to move—or that we'll be pushed to move earlier than is tactically sound—that's a big advantage."

"That it is. Now, here's to hoping that Alice's meeting with James leaks out and people assume it's about this."

"That's an awful lot of hope for one article," Tonks spoke up for the first time, still curled up on a couch with papers in her hand. She didn't bother to look up to see Bill shrug..

"True, but it's just a smokescreen. If this ploy fails, we lose nothing," her former Mentor countered.

"I can give you something better," Tonks replied, her serious expression suddenly melting into a grin.

"Such as?" Frank asked.

She waved several sheets of ancient parchment at them. "We're going to Apparate to Azkaban, wards and all. I know how."

-----------

Day three had dawned with barely noticeable sunlight. Dreary and cold as always, the third day of Sirius' time on Azkaban also brought on a driving thunderstorm. The rain cleaned up by mid-afternoon, but thunder shook the island from time to time as the day wore on. In truth, Severus was glad for the thunder. It muffled Sirius' screams, now going for the seventy-second hour with few pauses. Severus was not particularly weak of nature or unaccustomed to such things, but the constant screams gave him a headache.

A headache that vanished completely the moment he watched Francis Travers Apparate away from Azkaban without purpose or warning, looking frightened and secretive. Severus would have thought that it was nothing if he'd not seen Ronald Nott do the same less than an hour before, wand shaking as he looked furtively from side to side.

_They look like rats fleeing a sinking ship._ Severus followed Travers, throwing a tracking spell on the frightened Death Eater seconds before Travers left the island. Mentally following Travers' movements, Severus did pause as he passed Narcissa on his way to Azkaban's Apparation Area.

"I am leaving the island. I will send word or return by midnight."

He was gone before she could promise to pass the word along, but he knew Narcissa would. Few Death Eaters were as loyal as Narcissa Malfoy, and none more dependable.

-----------

Travers met Nott in Knockturn Alley, just outside Marvin's Meat Market ("All the Carrion You Can Carry!"). Witches and wizards passed quickly in Knockturn Alley, avoiding one another's eyes and minding their own business. Small groups often met in dark corners, whispering secrets and exchanging blackmail material. Of course, secrets were expected in Knockturn Alley, and Severus remained unnoticed so long as a hood concealed his face and his dark cloak was nondescript. Travers and Nott, however, stood out to his practiced eye, and Severus drifted close enough to overhear their conversation.

"…not going back to that place. Ever," Nott finished.

"I've been loyal for over ten years," Travers replied quietly. "But he's calling the Ministry down on us. If he'd just killed Black, they might have accepted it. But now…they're going to kill us all, and I'm not following him to death."

Nott snorted. "Like a St. Mungo's, you mean? I heard the Lestranges talking about how they wished everyone who was captured had died instead."

"Exactly. I'm not sitting around until the Aurors come. I'm not that stupid, and I don't want to die."

"Me, neither. Should we go to Potter in the morning?" Nott asked with a grimace. "It'll be a bit humiliating, but I can survive that."

"So can I. And at least he's pureblooded. He's one of us." Travers sounded like he believed that actually mattered.

"Let's go now. I don't like wandering out here when Bellatrix or one of the others can hunt us down."

_A little too late to avoid _that, _Nott._Severus smiled tightly but did not move. The Dark Lord would approve of Nott and Travers' capture or death, and such an example would prove to the other Death Eaters that there would be no running away. They had each chosen to follow Voldemort; they were not permitted to change their minds simply because they did not approve of the war's probable outcome.

Except—there was right and there was wrong. Did doing the right thing for the wrong reasons still count as good? He could still kill them.

Nott and Travers were speaking quietly.

_"I cannot stay long…but I had to come." The words came far easier than he expected them to. Severus had always been a proud man. "I wanted to apologize. I had not expected it to be like this."_

_"I did," the headmaster whispered between cracked lips. "Somehow…I knew."_

_Severus had told Voldemort about the change. And now Voldemort wanted to know._

_He'd really done it this time. Had really betrayed everything that mattered. "I don't quite know what to say," Severus admitted gruffly._

_"Neither do I," Remus whispered. "But you should go."_

_A heavy weight landed on his heart. "Yes. I should."_

Severus blinked. Why did he think of that now? Clearing his mind of the sudden memory took a long moment, felt like eternity. Why did he think of Hogwarts, of Remus, of betrayal? Yet he had. And when he regained his focus, Severus walked away.

_Make your choices. Make them well._

-----------

The world was a haze of pain. They'd let him sleep once (pass out, really), and Sirius was fairly certain that he'd been fed water a few times. Peace hadn't lasted long, however; Bellatrix was his constant companion when Voldemort was not there. A never-ending parade of Death Eaters joined her during the day, though Sirius really only identified ten or twelve different people, which meant that two thirds of Voldemort's followers were staying away. _Probably a good sign._

His mind still worked well enough to recognize patterns. Voldemort hadn't often visited the Interrogation Room, and Sirius hadn't left since he'd been chained to the chair. His head spun.

Another Cruciatus Curse. Had Roldolphus forgotten the creative spells he used to use?

Bellatrix joined in, and Sirius screamed louder. But his mind continued working, semi-shielded by the pain. _Not much longer_. He'd managed to track day and night by observing the patterns in which Death Eaters visited, and Sirius knew that there had to be only a few hours left to go.

Shooting pain.

Someone else added a third curse to the mix, and Sirius let his mind buckle under from the pain. The Dementors would be coming soon—they only really affected him when he was like this—and he had little desire to be sane when the creatures arrived. But he'd be ready when he had to be.

_"The uniform is a nice touch."_

_"It reminds me what I stand for."_

-----------

"Ladies and gentlemen, this will be our final briefing." Alice's words were clipped and quick; the sun was going down and everyone wanted a few hours rest before the mission. Each Auror was experiencing his or her own pre-mission jitters, but they were focused. _Just another routine mission, _Bill tried to tell himself with a wry smile. _As if anything we do is routine._

"We had hoped to uncover additional information before proceeding," Alice continued, "but news from Azkaban has been scarce. There has not been a single leak since Sirius arrived at the prison."

_So much for Snape, I guess_. Bill's smile vanished. He'd hoped that Sirius had been right about Snape; he'd seemed _so _certain at the last Inner Circle meeting. Sirius had been almost the only one to stand up for the man he'd hated for almost as many years as Bill had been alive. Bill had hoped that Snape might repay that trust by helping Sirius. He'd been wrong.

_So, you're the enemy. That's all right. We'll kill you like the rest._ Bill felt cold, but that was all right, too. He was ready, and Alice was just getting to the important part.

"We will Apparate to Azkaban. Recent research has revealed interesting links between Azkaban and Avalon, and has indicated that there is a way to Apparate from one to the other. We will test that theory tonight." She smiled grimly. "This is the real thing, folks. If we fail, we are likely to die. So, let's not fail.

"Tonks will brief the particulars." Alice nodded to Bill's partner, who rose nervously. Bill tried to shoot her a reassuring smile, but the tips of her hair rapidly shifted from brown to blue, to pink to green, and finally turned white and stayed that way. Tonks cleared her throat twice before beginning, hopping from one foot to the other and back again.

"Hi." She smiled self-consciously. "Um. Okay. Apparating onto Azkaban isn't exactly like Apparating anywhere else. In fact, it's more like Location Shifting—does anyone remember that from History of Magic?—than actual Apparation." As Tonks settled down, her voice grew more confident and her hair faded back to its natural brown.

"We will depart from the Emergency Apparation Center, which has already been prepared. We will still leave in the same four groups, which means that everyone will have to move into E-App _quickly. _We can afford no more than twenty seconds between groups, because the Location Shift takes almost a minute. And we all know how long one minute can be in combat."

Bill felt himself nod and heard the others muttering in agreement. Even with the element of surprise on their side, Group One was going to be awfully lonely out there at the start.

"After the shift is complete, all four groups will proceed as briefed. Your new arrival locations are displayed on the map behind me. When you are ready to depart, each group leader will use their Portkey.

"Now, here's the complicating factors: Group Four will still use Sirius' Portkey for entry, and their departure will be Group One's signal to enter E-App and Location Shift. The rest of the mission will continue according to plan."

_We hope. _But no mission ever played out according to plan, and the Aurors knew that. Screwups were a given.

Alice rose and resumed control of the briefing: "Each group leader will brief specifics in a moment, but there is just one more matter to discuss." For the first time, Bill saw worry in Alice's eyes as she sucked in a deep breath. "In the event that Sirius is unable to activate the Portkey, Group Four will utilize the Location Shift method to arrive in the high security cell block."

Almost every Auror in the room frowned, and several people started to object before Alice glared them down.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we do not know what we will find in Azkaban. _I cannot stress this enough_. Although I believe that Voldemort would announce Sirius' death, we cannot be certain that he is alive. If he is not, we will proceed with the mission and rescue the children."

"And Voldemort?" Missy Erickson asked in a suddenly small voice.

"If the worst comes?" Alice asked and Missy nodded. "We'll deal with him when the time comes. Our priority now is to rescue the prisoners. All of them."

Expressions set; doubts were repressed. The Aurors split into their groups, but the final briefing was mostly a formality. They were ready. ICEBREAKER TWO was a go.

----------

He'd not returned to Azkaban that night. His mind was oddly clear: no visions, no regrets. Perhaps he was simply postponing the inevitable, but Severus wanted one quiet night before facing the world.

It had taken him too many months to come up for air. To question himself. To stop and wonder what he was going. To make his choices, once and for all.

_"I need help," he'd whispered raggedly._

_A gentle hand landed on his shoulder. "Of course you do, Severus."_

_"I can't do this any more…"_

He'd started this for the wrong reasons, but he could damn well end it for the right ones. _"…Are you ready to do what is necessary?" _

_"I—" He_ was still wavering, wasn't he?

Knocking at his door. Insistent knocking.

With an effort, Severus uncoiled from his favorite armchair and strode up to the door. He couldn't imagine who would bother him at this hour—had Voldemort required his presence, he would have ordered someone to contact Severus via Floo. A late night visitation simply was not the Death Eater way—_Unless__…_ For a moment, Severus contemplated the possibility that this was a Ministry raid. The Aurors had targeted Death Eaters in the early days of the war, and his obvious role in Sirius' capture could have spurred them into action.

Except for the fact that Alice Longbottom wasn't a fool. She wasn't so reckless, and her boss, James Potter, was wise enough to wait. _Or angry enough to order my death tonight.__ Sirius Black is like a brother to him. Action against any one of those four is action against every one of them._

Warily, Severus opened the door, wand in hand and ready for anything. He didn't _expect _the Aurors…and hadn't expected Julia Malfoy, either. Her gray eyes were cold.

"Hello, Severus."

-----------

The pain stopped unexpectedly, faded. Slowly, Sirius realized that the Dementors had retreated, leaving him alone with Voldemort. _Interesting._Somehow, he knew that it was the Dark Lord before he even opened his eyes.

"Good evening, Sirius."

Evening. The hours were passing quickly, now, as they crawled by like snails. A tremor ripped through Sirius' body, and he felt Voldemort watching him closely through the haze. He stayed silent for as long as he dared before replying:

"Hello."

The levelness of his own voice surprised him, and it threw Voldemort off, too. Ten years he'd spent in the Dark Lord's hands, but it had never been like this.

Voldemort lowered himself into a chair just as Sirius realized that he'd been moved out of the Interrogation Room and back into the plush dining room they had shared lunch in just three days before. It felt like a lifetime had passed since then. Sirius blinked to clear his vision as Voldemort folded long fingered hands and settled in to wait.

"What do you want?" Sirius asked into the silence, his voice dry and raw. The pain crashed in as the haze cleared, and everything _hurt_.

"A conversation," was the cool reply.

"We've had lots of those."

Voldemort chuckled. "So we have." Calculating eyes narrowed and studied Sirius. "Yet the futile nature of your treatment continues to bother me. You and I both understand that no amount of torture will force you to change your mind."

Sirius managed a tight smile. "So let me go."

"Again, you and I both know that will not happen," the Dark Lord responded. "I will end your resistance in one way or another. You will join me or you will die."

"You've said that before," Sirius retorted, mostly to see what Voldemort's reply would be.

"Yes." A cool smile answered the taunt. "But now I will give you a deadline. You will have until tomorrow evening to join me; if you do not, you will die."

"Will I."

Voldemort's eyes narrowed. "Make no mistake about it. I will not give you a chance to escape. I will not entrust your death to a subordinate whom you can outthink. If you do not accept my _generous_ offer, I will kill you. Myself."

"I'm honored." Sirius couldn't hold back the dry reply. Oddly enough, Voldemort did not allow himself to be baited.

"As you should be." The door behind Voldemort opened, but Sirius did not have the energy to move or fight. "You will be left in peace tonight. Make your choice wisely."

The Dementors were approaching quickly. Darkness traveled with them. "I already have," he managed to whisper as the gray hands lifted him. "And it's not changing."

Nightmares closed in, closed out Voldemort's reply.

But knowledge stayed. _Just a few more hours to go._

-----------

"Hello, Julia." Speaking around the lump in his throat was difficult. Somehow, he knew that this visit was far from social.

Looking at her hard features made him wince. She looked tired. She looked worried. And Julia looked _angry_. His voice wanted to crack. "Won't you come in?"

"Thank you." Severus had not heard her speak so formally since their first meeting, so many years ago.

He noticed that Julia allowed him to step aside before crossing the threshold, never once turning her back on Severus as he led her to the parlor at Domus Archipater. The beautiful Prince family home had fallen to Severus after the demise of the last pureblooded Prince; Voldemort had gifted it to him when he'd slipped Severus into the Fourteen. It had been a welcome upgrade from his dreary childhood home, and Severus had always loved the mansion.

But never before had Domus Archipater felt less like home.

Julia sat down without being invited to do so, and Severus knew that was a bad sign. When she crossed her legs and speared him with a cool glare, he knew that he had to tread carefully.

"How may I help you?" Severus asked into the uncomfortable silence, sitting uneasily across from her.

"You can tell me what side you're on," Julia replied bluntly—despite himself, Severus winced again. It wasn't that her tone was harsh, rather that it _wasn't_. Julia spoke coolly, simply demanding an answer as straightforward as the question she'd asked.

The problem was that Severus didn't have one. Not any more.

"You know what I am, Julia," he said after a long moment.

"Yes. I do." Her eyes hardened to gray flint. "And I know what _I _was, what _you _recruited me to do. And I want to know if you lied to me, Severus. I want to know if you've been working for him all along and just played with me to serve his purposes," she spat.

Severus swallowed hard, knowing that he deserved her ire. He replied weakly: "It's not that simple."

"It ought to be. You're on one side or the other. _You _taught me that."

"Julia—"

"Don't, Severus." She was on her feet, yet he felt paralyzed, unable to stand. "You told me he was alive. You gave me _hope_. And I thought you were protecting me while I spied for the Order. I _trusted _you. We all did."

Julia crossed her arms over her chest and suddenly looked very small. Vulnerable. Frightened.

"And then you took him away." The pained accusation turned her voice raw; Severus saw her shudder before anger turned her eyes cold once again. "I don't expect _answers, _Severus. Not any more. But I do want you to know that I won't be coming back."

Something broke. He tried one more time, for the sake of the only true friendship he'd ever had. The only one that never demanded something back save himself. "Julia…"

"I know my way out." She turned and did not look back.

"You made your choices, Severus. I hope you can live with them."

------------

Ye Other Author's Note: Yet again, thank you all for sticking with me. I'm working some bits and parts from Book 7 in here and there, though I'm lucky that my main plotlines haven't been hurt at all by the new book—some of them have even been helped! I apologize profusely for the delay in getting this up, but I've decided not to take the easy way out and end the story where I could have (which would have enabled me to get it out before Book 7) and tie up all the loose ends I've created and go for the _real _ending. So, stay tuned for PD39: "Against the End", in which we finally see an old letter from Dumbledore (concerning Casa Serpente!), the Aurors hit Azkaban, and the unexpected happens.


	40. Chapter 39: Against the End

* * *

_Chapter Thirty-Nine: Against the End_

* * *

Her words kept echoing through his mind. Severus wanted to be sick.

He should return to Azkaban. Should go back to the island and notify the Dark Lord that Nott and Travers had fled and allow the Dark Lord to decide their fate. In fact, he probably shouldn't have let Julia leave; she would have perhaps been the missing leverage they needed to use against Sirius Black.

Severus rose woodenly and slowly made his way to the false panel in the wall behind the second shelf from the top on a several hundred year old bookcase. He opened the hidden door without hesitation, revealing a vault whose security rivaled Gringotts' best. Mechanically, he turned the ancient brass dial to enter the first combination, and then the second, and finally the third. Using any wrong combination would make the safe unusable for hours, and no amount of magic had ever been designed to crack the age-old protections.

The door clicked open, and he removed the unsealed envelope, resting alone on the top shelf. Parchment cracked gently as he removed the folded letter, hesitating only slightly before he smoothed out the paper to read the words once more.

_My dear friend,_

_There are not many words to say, now, or at least not ones that have not already been said. You know me too well for empty farewells, though I am sorry to leave you this way, when there is so much yet to be done._

_Despite that, I know you will do the right thing. And in the end, you will find peace, little though you may believe that now._

_I leave you with the key to Casa Serpente, which was enclosed in a mysterious package I received only a few weeks ago. Amazingly, the package was addressed to me by name, though the letter inside was dated May 7, 1000. It was from Rowena Ravenclaw, written, she said, after Salazar Slytherin's death. The key can only be used by a true son of the Slytherin House: a man who is both ambitious and powerful, yet still possesses courage and honor as well._

_Not all relations are made of blood, and I believe you to be the man Ravenclaw spoke of: the heir to all that Salazar Slytherin once was, even when truth fades to legend, and legend to lies._

_Use it well._

_I will see you again._

_Albus_

Severus turned the envelope over and let the small silver key fall into his hand.

-----------

Four groups of Aurors gathered in the lobby of the Main house, just waiting for the signal to move out. Sirius' wand sat on a table near the center of the room, and there were at least a dozen sets of eyes on it at any time. The moment that the wand started to glow, Groups One through Three would spring for E-App; Group Four was gathered closest to the wand and ready to move right away.

They had waited for hours already. Midnight had passed and was opening. Dawn was not too long in the future, and still the Aurors waited.

All they needed was for Sirius to come through…just one more time.

-----------

He woke up shivering. Sirius hadn't meant to nod off, but he'd needed the sleep desperately. Everything hurt. When he tried to move, his limbs felt as if they were made of lead, far heavier than they should have been even with the added weight of the chains Bella had locked on him. Sirius tried to ignore the burning pain of broken ribs every time he drew a breath, yet he knew he was lucky that Voldemort had called Bella and Rodolphus off. Had the Dark Lord not done so, Sirius would have had a lot more problems than broken legs, busted ribs, a cracked collarbone and the mental fuzziness caused by repeated Cruciatus Curses. As much as it hurt, he'd gotten off lightly. The injuries were nothing a Quick Heal couldn't overcome. Sirius knew how to deal with pain.

But he'd needed the rest, and Voldemort shouldn't have given it to him. Sleep would give him an edge in the coming battle that Sirius hadn't expected to have. It cleared his mind, helped chase away the Cruciatus-created blur. Voldemort really _wasn't _expecting anything… However, his high security cell contained no windows, and Sirius had no way to tell how long he'd slept. Judging from the reduced noise level in the prison, he could guess that it was night. But how late was it? Was it late enough?

Sirius hauled himself into a sitting position, rattling chains and biting back a scream. With an effort, he managed to lean against the rear wall, ribs burning.

_At least I'm not as torn up as I was last time, _he thought with a half-humored grimace. He'd bled very little from an early beating, but Rodolphus had yet to pull out his favorite whip. Outwardly, Sirius was relatively intact.

_Focus._

He closed his eyes, forcing his body to relax and his labored breathing to slow. Gradually, the fuzz in his mind faded into the background, the blurred edges of his consciousness sharpening into razor-edged awareness. It was an old trick, more mental than magical, but it worked.

And so did the magic when Sirius reached out, using the abilities he'd so carefully concealed. Voldemort might have expected Sirius to know wandless magic, but he'd either guessed that Sirius would not have the patience to continuously hide his new and useful skills or that days of torture would wear him down past the point of functionality.

Sirius snorted. Exhausting him would have been a good tactic if not for the fact that Voldemort had spent ten years building up Sirius' tolerance for pain. _You made me, Tom Riddle. Now you get to face me._ Sirius' smile turned wolfish. Hungry. It was time.

He activated the Portkey.

-----------

The ebony wand glowed blue. Immediately, Bill leapt to his feet. "Let's go!"

Group One flew out the door, with Groups Two and Three right on their heels; Bill conducted a quick head count to make sure he had everyone in Group Four. The moment he was done—and had received Tonks' nod that indicated she'd done the same—Bill snapped:

"Line it up!"

His nine Aurors were in place within seconds, and Bill nodded subconsciously with satisfaction. For once, the odds were in the good guys' favor. They were hitting Azkaban with forty Aurors—more than there were Death Eaters left. _It's _our_ turn this time. _Although they had a solid escape plan, the Aurors intended to hold the island if they could.

And if Sirius was alive and if he could kill Voldemort, the war would be over by dawn.

"Ready?"

Hands clamped down on shoulders, each Auror holding on to the witch or wizard in front of them. Ten hands wouldn't fit on the wand, so they formed one line behind Bill and another behind Tonks. The two group leaders stood with the wand between them, close enough together to exchange whispers. Nine voices answered as one:

"Ready!"

Bill looked at Tonks one last time. She nodded, blue eyes focused and bright. _Here goes nothing!_

Their hands slapped down on Sirius' wand together.

-----------

He felt them coming, but having ten Aurors appear in his cell was still a surprise. Sirius blinked, and then scowled at Bill Weasley. "Aren't you supposed to be the last group?"

_Don't tell me that this is all that's coming. Don't tell me that Voldemort managed to somehow stop the others—_

"Change of plans," Bill answered as the other nine stared. Thankfully, Bill had seen worse, and he appeared able to control his shock. "We found another way in."

"Bully for you," Sirius wheezed back the scream that wanted to escape. "Now get these bloody chains off me and give me my wand."

He could have unlocked them on his own, but using a wand was so much easier. Wandless magic drained him far too quickly, and he'd need his energy later. Bill nodded choppily and went to work; the others busied themselves by _not _looking, but Sirius could read the discomfort on their faces. Everyone understood the risks involved in being an Auror, but no one ever liked to be reminded that the dangers were real. Death was one thing, Sirius saw more than one of them thinking. This was another.

The chains gone, Bill offered Sirius a hand to help him up without offering his wand first. Hurting, Sirius scowled up at the redhead and stretched out his right hand. Immediately, the comfortable feeling of smooth wood filled his palm. A helpless cough emerged as he did so; suddenly, using wandless magic made his chest tight.

Sirius' vision swam.

"_Brevisalvum__ Mali," _he got out before the coughing fit started. Strength whipped through his body right away, and Sirius managed to choke back all but the first few hacking coughs.

He accepted the proffered hand and rose, shaking the pain off. Tonks was poised to open the door, but all eyes were on Sirius, wide and shocked. Even Bill, who should have known better, was staring at Sirius as if he couldn't believe he was standing. Yet it felt good to move, even taking the pain into account. He'd waited three long days for this moment, had endured everything the Death Eaters could throw at him and was still standing. _Count every victory, _Arabella Figg used to say. _Sooner or later, they start to add up._

Sirius grinned. "Let's go Voldemort hunting."

-----------

As luck would have it, Alice's group found their targets almost right away. She'd banked on the Dementors' nest not having moved since the Aurors owned Azkaban, and had targeted her group's entrance accordingly. Upon arrival, she'd led her Aurors in a sprint around a corner, and Dawlish had thrown the door open.

Ice coated the doorframe. Immediately, Alice started to shiver, finding that her hands were shaking so hard that holding her wand became difficult. This was different from the Ministry, even though there _should _have been fewer Dementors in the nest—but this was the Dementors' home. Their lair. Their quiet, private, and freezing corner of hell.

Crucial seconds ticked by as the cold seeped into the Aurors' bones, paralyzing them with fear and with cold. Like the others, Alice could only stand and _stare_, watch with horror as the Dementors floated around lazily to face the intruders, drifting back and forth as if savoring the Aurors' fear…and then starting forward. It was not like the Ministry. They did not _surge _towards the Aurors. They just…glided. Lazily. Complacently.

As if they had all the time in the world.

Jean d'Orville managed to cast the Safe Return Spell first. His voice was lonely and small in the vastness of the cave buried in the rock underneath Azkaban prison, the nest only Dementors dared to enter. But it was a voice:

_"Amospero Aminaes Odinfragilisecrum!"_

Alice blinked. Focused. Struggled not to flee. Around her, the other Aurors were also reacting, fighting back, pulling together the threads of the magic they'd prepared hours before and dragging their minds back into focus. The opening steps of the spell had been completed while the first two groups of Aurors Location Shifted to Azkaban, and the Safe Return Spell was ready. All they had to do was _act_.

Deep breath.

Ten voices as one: _"Amospero Aminaes Odinfragilisecrum!"_

A small corner of Alice's consciousness knew that they'd encountered nearly all of Voldemort's remaining Dementors. Even though the effect was overpowering, the Aurors had been lucky; the last hours before dawn were when the Dementors quieted down and returned to their nest. But lucky or not, their hands were full. Ten Aurors against almost one hundred Dementors made for bad odds, odds that would have been insurmountable just a few months before.

The first wave went down.

"Again!" Alice shouted as the remaining Dementors surged forward, no longer lazy or confident. Like any creature, they were most dangerous when defending their home.

_"Amospero Aminaes Odinfragilisecrum!"_ The voices were stronger this time, and still more Dementors turned to dust.

-----------

"Lemon drop!" The password had been chosen by Tonks in a playful mood, but it was shouted in Bill's voice. Frank's Aurors lowered their wands just in time to allow Group Four—and Sirius—rush out of the row of High Security cells. Frank's subgroup was still at the head of that passageway; he'd already sent his other two subgroups to free the children in the two first rows of the prison. Of course, that meant that Frank's group would have to cover the High Security cells and another row of cells beside that, but he had three other Aurors with him and they planned to move fast. Still, he had to pause to watch the others, just for a moment.

Sirius was moving strongly and quickly; though his face was tight with pain, he was in control. One glance at his set expression was enough to tell Frank that he meant business—there would be no stopping Sirius this time. And maybe, just maybe, this was the day. _One can only hope, _he thought silently. _Good luck._

There wasn't time for more, even well wishes. Frank had children to save. As much as he'd like to be there with Sirius, taking pieces out of Voldemort and hopefully ending the war, he had a job to do.

So he turned to the nearest cell, where two sad little girls with brown eyes stared up at him with a mixture of hope and terror. No more than ten years old, the pair clung to one another with white-knuckled hands. Frank swallowed hard, then forced his mind back to business.

"_Oblitesco_." The lock shattered, making both girls cry out. But Frank spoke softly:

"I'm an Auror. I'm here to take you home."

-----------

"This place is awfully empty." Hestia's group had not yet met resistance, and they were fanning out, now, careful to stay in sight of one another while they searched for Death Eaters. Group One was the first line of defense for their comrades racing through the cell blocks behind them, positioned to cut off any Death Eaters racing into the prison complex from Voldemort's palace. So far, however…nothing.

"I've got a bad feeling about this," Jason Clearwater muttered. "It's way too quiet. We should have found someone by now."

"Stop complaining," Hestia ordered automatically, but her heart was pounding in her ears. A quick glance at her group showed that all of the Aurors were still alert, looking for trouble. Knowing it would come.

But there was nothing. The halls were eerily silent as they approached the Lestranges' quarters, tucked away in the southeast corner of the prison complex. Quietly, the ten Aurors flattened themselves against the walls on either side of the door, wands up and ready. Only after meeting each set of eyes in turn did Hestia whisper the unlocking charm and spring the door open a crack. They would push it the rest of the way open upon entry, but not a moment sooner.

_Surprise, surprise, _Hestia thought with a slight smile. Muffled and sleepy voices came from inside, but no movement.

Hestia met Jason's eyes and held up one finger, mouthing "On three." Time seemed to slow down as her former student nodded, and Hestia shifted her weight to the balls of her feet. The most dangerous place to be when entering a room was silhouetted right in the doorway, which was why she and Jason would go in together for mutual support.

Two fingers. A male voice from inside muttered something about loose Dementors and open doors.

Three—

An inhumanely furious screech split the air just as Hestia started to move. Instinctively, she threw herself backwards, but not before seeing a yellow curse strike Jason high in the chest. Knocked off his feet by the power, Jason flew back a few feet and then hit the ground with a loud _thump_, on fire and screaming in pain.

Hestia scrambled to her feet, desperately thrusting her wand out as a shadow leapt out of the room and over Jason's prone figure.

_"Everbero!"_

To her left, Jessica Avery tried _"Stupefy!"_

Both curses missed by inches. So did those coming from those on Jason's side of the doorway, though two of his team were kneeling by Jason and dousing the flames.

Hestia swore. "Follow her!"

Jason's group was closest, but she knew it was too late—even as they jumped up to chase the Death Eater, she disappeared around a corner. Another lucky group was going to have to encounter Bellatrix Lestrange.

She jumped into the room before Jason could pick himself up, Avery and Laurence at her back and firing curses as they came. Rodolphus Lestrange had risen from bed but was clearly a bit confused; perhaps he was still groggily wondering where his wife had run off to. Hestia did not give him any longer to wonder.

_"Extundo!"_

Her curse hit Rodolphus right in the face, snapping his head back like a child's toy and making it hit the headboard with a sickening _crunch_. Hestia didn't have time to wonder if she'd broken his neck before alarms started going off.

-----------

_"Amospero Aminaes Odinfragilisecrum!"_ Another wave of Dementors melted to dust; Alice had lost count of how many had fallen. But the Aurors were winning handily—not a single Auror had fallen, and there were perhaps two dozen Dementors remaining.

_"Amospero Aminaes Odinfragilisecrum!"_ A short pause. _"Amospero Aminaes Odinfragilisecrum!"_ Their voices were growing uneven, out of synch.

Only a few Dementors vanished that time. The Aurors were tiring—higher level magic like this sapped one's energy fast, even when you were trained to deal with it. Alice blinked back fatigue, shaking her head to clear it.

"Together," she hissed at her companions, and she felt the Aurors suck in a collective deep breath. There voices were stronger as they cast together:

_"Amospero Aminaes Odinfragilisecrum!"_

Another group of Dementors collapsed. There were only three left—they'd all but won—and—

Searing pain invaded Alice's consciousness; fireworks exploded before her eyes. She thought she heard someone shout her name but could not be sure, and though her eyes were open, Alice never saw the floor rushing up to smack her in the face.

-----------

"_Brevisalvum__ Mali."_Jason was back on his feet, swaying but steady enough. He spared a moment to glare at Hestia, growling under his breath. "I told you it was too quiet."

"Stop complaining." It was her normal rejoinder, and made Jason crack a smile. He'd certainly heard it enough times throughout his mentorship. _Pity that I still have to tell him to quit! _But Jason was always all business on a mission, even if he did gripe and moan.

He stopped glaring. "Let's move."

They fanned out again, Rodolphus' limp form floating along with the Aurors. He wasn't dead, and Hestia was a bit disappointed that she'd not done more damage than what appeared to be a massive concussion, so they brought him along. He'd make a good addition to the Aurors' collection of Death Eaters on Avalon.

She was just starting to get used to the alarm's clanging when bright lights filled the hallway and the Aurors threw themselves against the walls to get out of the line of fire. But there was nowhere to hide.

-----------

"Alice!" Jean d'Orville shouted as the British Auror went down, her back a festering mess of blood and flesh. Instinct, however, tracked his wand in on the Death Eater that had just taken her down.

_"Resiacio!"_Tory Urquhart flew backwards and crashed into the four Death Eaters rushing up on her heels. The sudden impact slowed their advance, buying Jean enough time to shout over his shoulder at Dawlish:

"Kill the last Dementors!"

To Haunting and Scott: "Get out of the way!"

"M'okey," Alice's drunken voice interjected. "Jus' gimme a minute…"

She'd distracted Jean for too long.

_"Crucio!"_Leave it to Quirrell to be such a fool. Battles were hardly the time for the torture curse, but Death Eaters weren't always highly-trained combat wizards. They were often idiots.

Despite that, Jean hit the ground screaming, every nerve on fire. But Quirrell left himself exposed to hold the torture curse on the French Auror, and Dawlish took aim.

_"Offenvox!"_

Head swimming, Jean scrambled to his feet. He coughed and tasted blood, but the words came out well enough. "Dementors gone?"

"Dead," Dawlish replied.

"Good."

_"Avada Kedavra!"_ another Death Eater's voice cried, and the Aurors dove further into the Dementors' nest.

Jean snapped his wand up. _"Everbero!"_

Dawlish and Haunting together: _"Contegorum!" _

The shield charm was just in time, and the incoming spells bounced off of it harmlessly.

_"Debellum!"_

_"Venderum!"_ Bright lights impacting on the shield almost blinded him, but Jean supposed that the enemy was having no better luck.

_"Conteriaco!"_Jean shouted. Scott and Beaumont quickly joined in.

_"Stupefy!" _Someone fell.

_"Cadovallum!"_A stone wall crashed in, landing on one or two Death Eaters. Quirrell and one of the Carrows? It was impossible to tell.

Urquhart managed one last spell from where she was still sprawled on the ground, but her Killing Curse impacted harmlessly with the ceiling. Rock fragments rained down on them as Haunting quieted her with a quick Stunner and then the hallway was silent.

Until Alice asked drunkenly: "Where'd all the shiny lights go…?"

-----------

Frank's last head count came up with the right number of children, and he gathered them close. He and Cornelia had already explained to the children how the Portkey would work, but this was not the time to be careless. There was no way that he was going to leave a child behind.

The kids were surprisingly intact, given the circumstances. Frank had expected to see far more physical and emotional injuries, but the children appeared mostly whole. They were frightened, yes, and extraordinarily quiet and timid. But they were attentive and focused, especially the older ones. _And they remind me of Neville._ Frank swallowed back fear. Pain. Hatred.

Something didn't fit. Something wasn't right. Power hungry Death Eaters weren't all that selective about who they hurt, and Frank had seen child-victims before. They were _never _emotionally stable.

_There's something I'm not seeing._

Not knowing made Frank's skin crawl.

"Are you ready to go to Avalon?" Cornelia asked the children. This was the final group, Frank knew. His other subgroups had already left the prison, and only these children were left to rescue. He didn't even dare think that things were going too well. Doing so might tempt fate.

"Yes, Miss Cornelia," the children chorused.

"Excellent." Her smile was so relaxed that Frank would not have seen the underlying tension had he not known her well. "Hold tight."

Frank activated the Portkey and they reached for it together.

He was just fading out as Bellatrix Lestrange came tearing into the hallway.

_"Avada Ked—"_

-----------

Hestia led the charge straight down the middle of the hallway. _Spells follow straight lines. Stay away from the walls!_

Curses filled the passageway.

_"Extundo!"_

_"Suffocoum!"_

_"Stupefy!"_

_"Avada Kedavra!"_

Someone screamed. But dead people didn't scream, and the curse killed too quickly for someone to react like that. Didn't it?

_"Offenvox!__ Resiacio! Vexameum!"_

_"Contegorum!"_

_"Expelliarmus!"_

_"Imperio!"_That one hit. Jason staggered, only to have his attacker hit full on in the face by Hestia's Stunner. Then Jason was free, and firing spells again.

_"Stupefy!"_

_"Oblitesco!"_

Bright lights everywhere. Hestia couldn't believe she hadn't been hit.

She couldn't track which side was casting what. Only that she fired spells as fast as she could and watched the Death Eaters turn to run. Some fired spells back over their shoulders. Others didn't. Hestia could pick out a few specific Death Eaters in the mass; as near as she could tell, her group of ten Aurors was chasing seven Death Eaters. _Chasing._ Chasing was the key word. Under normal circumstances, seven Death Eaters would stand and fight, not run. They had attacked and then withdrawn. Were they that frightened?

Feet pounded on concrete, rumbling like an approaching avalanche. The Death Eaters spun up, Vaisey in the lead. The volume of spells they were aiming back at the pursuing Aurors was thinning fast. They _were _that frightened.

Suddenly, they were out of the prison, flying through the trio of gates that were already open—_open?—_into the foyer of Voldemort's palace. _Don't they keep these gates secured?_

Instinct prickled.

"Stop!" Her wand snapped out. "_Contegorum_ Trap!"

Hestia slammed to a stop, skidding a foot or so as Jason crashed into her back. The other Aurors piled up behind the lead pair, breathing hard and braced for anything. The shield charm shimmered slightly, hovering between her team and danger, with Jason and Jessica ready to reinforce if needed. The foyer was eerily quiet. _This has to be a trap_. Facts piled up in Hestia's mind, and the outer world slowed to a crawl.

The gates were open. There was no way that Voldemort would allow the gates leading from the prison to his palace to be left unsecured.

The Death Eaters controlled their path. Led the Aurors right where they wanted them.

The stillness was surreal. Artificial. Dangerous.

The mission was going too well. Way too easily.

One plus two equaled three. Things out of place plus allowing yourself to be led along equaled trap.

_Snap._ The universe sped up again. Jason's voice in her ear:

"Plan?"

The Death Eaters disappeared around a corner, still pounding along at the same reckless pace.

If the trap was _there_, just strides inside the gates, the Aurors would have sprung it by now. _Think quickly._

"Move out with caution," Hestia ordered. "Something is not right."

-----------

A quick Blaster had thrown the gates open; Sirius poured far more power into the spell than had been necessary, though after spending three days pent up and helpless, excessive use of power felt _liberating._ Never mind that he'd damn near blown the hinges straight out and across the hallway. The gates warped slightly where they crashed into the walls, but somehow remained standing.

Besides, letting power flow through him like that helped Sirius ignore the pain of broken bones grinding against each other as he strode towards battle.

Bill and Tonks were right behind him, moving almost exactly in his foot prints. They were poised to assist him in any way they could, but Sirius knew this was going to be his battle. He'd known that for months, now, ever since he'd discovered a two-way bond that neither Dark Lord nor Auror could break. A bond that told him exactly where Voldemort was.

One that let Voldemort know he was coming.

Oddly enough, the distance between them wasn't opening or closing quickly. Voldemort wasn't moving. He was waiting, not advancing, or—Sirius had a hard time wrapping his mind around the concept—running. Tension welled up within him. This was it.

Left turn. Ignore his trembling limbs. Right turn. _Not far now._

Sirius let his wand roll over in his hand. Kept his grip loose. His palms were a little sticky, but not bad. If only his heart would stop trying to hammer its way up into his throat, Sirius would be just fine.

"Drop back a little," he ordered Bill, pleased that his voice was level. Pain scratched at his throat, but Sirius was functional. Ready.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. There's not much you can do in this battle." Sirius shot a quick glance over his shoulder at the other Aurors. "That goes for all of you. If he has companions, feel free to take out the help. But Voldemort is mine."

Tight smiles and nods showed that they understood, even if they weren't necessarily happy about the situation. They understood. It was time, and everyone was hungry.

_Time to get—_

Without warning, Voldemort stepped out of a room at the end of the long hallway.

------------

Ye Other Author's Note: Well, if that's not a cliffhanger, I don't know what is. J However, if you review, I shall indeed post faster, as PD40 "Another Step Around the Corner" is already done and being edited.


	41. Chapter 40: Another Step Around the

* * *

_Chapter Forty: Another Step Around the Corner_

* * *

Five Death Eater bodies littered the floor outside of the Dementors' Nest, existing in varying degrees of dead or unconscious. Only Quirrell appeared to be dead, having lost most of his head when part of the wall combined with a Dislocating Curse to tear his body into shreds. The others were unconscious or mostly so—Urquhart was groaning, but Dawlish solved that with a quick Stunner.

Alice was mostly quiet, now, lapsing in and out of consciousness. One glance told Jean that she was beyond the help of a Quick Heal; they'd have to get her to healers fast. Beaumont and Haunting were also banged up; Beaumont was stumbling around with a concussion and Scott just having cast a Quick Heal on himself to keep standing despite a gaping hole in his right side.

"Everyone who can, grab a prisoner and line it up," Jean ordered. "The Dementors are dead and our mission is accomplished. Let's get back to Avalon."

He'd said at least five words too many. The world spun, exploded, and went black before Jean's eyes. He hit the ground hard, not quite conscious, yet teetering on the edge of passing out. For a long moment, all he could do was lie at Alice's side and wonder how the Death Eaters had flubbed this up so badly. Had they not attacked in two waves—if the Death Eaters had been smart enough to hit the Aurors from behind _while _they were fighting the Dementors, Voldemort's followers would have won.

As things stood, they couldn't even manage to properly hex Jean. Consciousness invaded; the fuzz was retreating fast.

_Thump. Thump. THUMP. _Was someone playing a drum or was his head just pounding that loudly?

He was distantly aware that Alice had muttered a shield charm from the ground next to him; by some miracle, the shield held, even though she was too woozy to hold her wand straight. Dawlish was shouting:

"Get those two behind cover—watch yourself, Scott! _Iugulra!_"

Haunting's voice: "Where the hell did Lestrange go?"

"I don't know!"

"She was right—"

"_Avada Kedavra!" _

Dawlish swore as Edgecombe went down. Jean blinked back dizziness and tried to stand—only to end up sprawled on Alice's legs. Her shield buckled and vanished, but Beaumont finally noticed their predicament and dragged both senior Aurors farther behind a wall in the nest. Beaumont leveled her wand at Jean as he struggled to sit up.

"_Adficios Vos."_

Strength rushed through Jean's bones, and he staggered to his feet. "What happened?"

"Bellatrix Lestrange cursed you in the back. If you can't feel it yet, you're in shock," Beaumont replied shortly. "Watch your head."

Scott's stunner sizzled by Jean's ear as he ducked, missing by millimeters. "Nice warning!"

"Sorry!" Scott shouted back. "_Everbero!_ _Supplanto! _Ah, damn! _Nox_ _Omni!"_

The corridor went out, and Jean almost laughed out loud when he realized that all of Azkaban's lights were magical and Scott's rushed spell had extinguished every single one of them. A few spells winged past the Aurors in the dark, but not many. The Death Eaters seemed as stunned as they did.

Until Bellatrix Lestrange screamed another curse and the entire passageway was engulfed in fire.

"_Protego!"_ At least five voices shouted together, but the Aurors still felt the oppressive heat of the flames. Jean fought back a coughing fit as someone snarled:

"Way to go, Scott. Good move. No lights equals fire. Thanks a bundle."

"Hey, it seemed like a good idea at the time!"

"Just make it stop!" Dawlish shouted, struggling to hold up his end of the shield. When had his face started bleeding like that? Jean was still horribly dizzy, and he could feel his hands going numb.

Water filled the hallway without warning, and Jean coughed and sputtered as the waves crested around him to bounce off the ceiling. Moments after the fire vanished, the lights flickered back on.

Scott's response was immediate: "I didn't do that."

-----------

A small flick of Voldemort's wand restored illumination to the hallway.

Their eyes locked. Neither moved for several long seconds; to the onlookers, it felt like eternity passed. The two, Dark Lord and opponent, simply faced one another, each waiting for the other to make the first move.

Sirius never knew that his eyes flashed red. Glowed. _Burned._

Darkness, however, he knew. Heavy power swirled around him, thick and dangerous. At hand. Ready for his call. Ready to answer the challenge in Voldemort's eyes. Steady and focused, his wand came up. It was time. Voldemort was going to pay for what he'd done, pay for every lost life and every destroyed family, for every child living in a hell they should never have imagined, even in their nightmares. Deep breath.

"_Whatever you do, just don't lose yourself there, Sirius," James had said the morning before he left. "I've watched you piece your soul together after that first time in Azkaban…just please promise me that you won't do that again."_

_Sirius had looked straight into worried hazel eyes. "I won't," he promised. Then he answered the unspoken plea: "And I won't become the next Dark Lord, either."_

Ice cold reality splashed on his fury. Voldemort's wand came up with blinding speed, but his eyes remained locked with Sirius'. Waiting.

The stillness continued as the words rang through Sirius' mind. _I will not become the next Dark Lord._

Promises made.

_I will become what you are. _A chill ran down Sirius' spine; he remembered. He'd promised that, too. Had put his feet on a dark road and never looked back. Necessity and pain drove him—Sirius knew that now—and more than a little fear. He'd not known another path to take.

Promises kept.

_I am what you are. _The darkness muted, faded, and vanished, leaving only pure and clean power in its wake. _And I refuse to fall into the trap you made for yourself. I am not a Dark Lord. I am Sirius Black, friend, Auror, and…hero. _That wasn't a label he liked, but it fit well enough. The cycle continued: Dark Lords and heroes who rose to stop them. Sirius was no different from those who had come before him. He would stand.

Promises _unbroken_.

Sirius smiled.

The eternity ended.

"_Avada Kedavra!" _Voldemort thundered. Green magic sizzled in on Sirius, but he just moved aside. Easily. Smoothly. His smile did not fade.

Two steps to the right and Sirius dropped into his dueling crouch. The other Aurors had scattered to give him space. Time to strike. Wand forward.

"_Imperio."_

The word came out as a whisper, soft and gentle. But it slipped through Voldemort's defenses and _stuck._ Battle of wills—Voldemort strained against the unexpected hold, raging and striking out at any part of Sirius he could reach. Pain boiled up and made Sirius feel as if his head was going to explode, but he did not have to hold the curse for long.

"_Everbero!"_

Voldemort flew backwards and hit a wall with a sickening crunch. His head smacked rock even as he threw off the Imperius Curse, his wand flying from his hand and bouncing once, twice, six times to land several yards away from the Dark Lord.

Sirius launched out of his crouch and sprinted forward. "_Accio wand!"_

Thirteen and a half inches of yew and phoenix feather slapped down into his left palm. Voldemort was still on the ground, moaning a little. A dozen more strides and Sirius would—

"_Debellum!"_ a familiar voice screeched, and Sirius' body slammed to a painful halt. Blackness ate at the edges of his vision, and his breathing threatened to stop. He might have stood frozen for hours had Bellatrix's body not slammed into his, knocking Sirius sprawling. Hurting.

The world twisted into a flat spin, and he could not see.

Bellatrix followed the Dark Stunner with a savage "_Crucio!" _and Sirius was helpless to respond. The Dark Stunner kept trying to drag him into blackness, but he did feel Bellatrix tear Voldemort's wand from his hand. Three days of torture added to the spell to make his mind start to collapse, buckling under the pressure…

_Concentrate. Focus. Think. _

Pain dulled his senses, but Trixie was grinning—Sirius summoned his reserves. "_Venderum!"_

It was dark magic, but it worked. The spell blasted his cousin backwards; she landed right on top of Voldemort with a cry. Bellatrix barely managed to get to her knees as Sirius jumped to his feet, shaking off the pain and clearing his head. Voldemort was sitting up now, looking dizzy and unfocused as Bellatrix pushed his wand back into his hand. Instinct prickled, but even Sirius could not get his wand up fast enough.

"_Ava—_damnit!" The curse ended in a pointless hiss. "Damn, damn, _damn._" They were gone. Vanished. _Gone._

"Are you all right?" Concern filled his younger cousin's face.

"Yeah," Sirius snarled. "Damnit to all hell." He was shaking, probably as much from rage as from pain and exhaustion.

"What is it?"

"He ran. The bastard _ran._" Sirius felt like crying in frustration. All the work, the three days of hell in Azkaban, the months of preparation for _this moment_…wasted. Worthless. Voldemort had run away. He'd have to try again. Have to start the cycle all over again because the brave and powerful Lord Voldemort had decided to be a coward. Because Voldemort was…afraid. _Afraid _of Sirius.

His shaking slowed as his mind wrapped itself around what this meant. Sirius sucked in a deep breath, and for a moment the burning pain in his chest felt cleansing. Focusing. His eyes hardened, and purpose replaced frustration. _I will stop you. If I have to chase you to the ends of the world, I will stop you._

"You'll get him next time, Sirius," Tonks reassured him, misreading the sigh.

He flashed her a smile, and it even felt natural. "You bet I will."

_Count the days, Tom Riddle._ _I'm coming._

-----------

Avalon was crawling with children and rescuees by the time Sirius arrived, and their haunted-yet-hopeful gazes mollified the remnants of his fury a little. He might not have gotten Voldemort, but he'd done something right. Saving lives was what mattered to an Auror; even catching the bad guy ranked below that.

"What's the head count?" Sirius rasped, limping a little (only a little because he was unsure which leg to favor; he knew that things would get worse very soon).

"One hundred and twenty-one children…and Gabriel Binns," Jean answered, approaching in time to hear the question. "He's the only survivor from the adults. But we got all of the kids."

But they both knew that _all _of the children meant all that Voldemort admitted to holding. There had been at least fifteen others, but missing translated into dead in this case, and all the Aurors understood that. Still, the numbers were damn good. Voldemort had threatened to kill one hundred and twenty-one children, and the Aurors had rescued one hundred and twenty-one. _A good day's work._

"Prisoners?" He'd seen several Death Eaters being hauled towards holding cells and knew that the rest had fled Azkaban, but Sirius had no idea how many had been taken or killed—only that the one that counted was still out there.

"Ten, I think. Another handful dead. Not a bad job, overall." But Jean's face was drawn, so Sirius braced himself as he asked the next question.

"And Aurors?"

"We lost three. Edgecombe, Rousseau, and Janivers. We've also some serious injuries. Alice is the worst—Frank got her to St. Mungo's and she's in intensive care there. Everyone else is being seen by the healers here. Bill is still on Azkaban, managing things there. I think he's got nine others with him."

"How bad is she?" He managed to ask around the lump in his throat. Alice's injuries explained why Jean was doing the reporting, but where was Hestia?

"Bad. The healers aren't confident." Jean's voice was heavy.

"Speaking of healers, there are several waiting for you," Tonks put in. Sirius shot her a look, and she shrugged. "We figured you'd be a bit of a mess."

He had to snort. "No kidding." And the Quick Heal was wearing down fast; Sirius could feel the spell collapsing. For a moment, he contemplated casting another one on himself so that he could get more work done, but common sense prevailed. He managed a crooked smile. "Lead me to the healers, Tonks. I shall put myself in your capable hands."

"You'd bett"—_thud._ "Ah, crap." Tonks' smile vanished into a sheepish shrug. "Or, on second thought, don't. I'd probably trip over you, too. Stupid tree root. Who thought to put one of those here, anyway?"

-----------

The news was all over the Wizarding World by dawn. Azkaban was taken. The Dementors were dead. Voldemort had _run_. Reporters and politicians alike proclaimed that this was it, the end of the war. Final victory was at hand.

James made a short speech praising the Aurors, refused to comment further without more information, and excused himself to visit a wounded friend. Auror that he (still) was, he had ready access to Avalon, so James Apparated there immediately after speaking to Remus and Peter both. Remus was busy at Hogwarts and Peter deep in negotiations with the Dutch Ambassador (James actually had to leave a message with Peter's assistant), leaving James to head out to the Aurors' Island on his own.

Bill met him right outside of the Primary Apparation Center.

"I just got back from Azkaban. Hestia's in charge there now—most of the booby traps and curses have been cleared up, and things are relatively quiet. But we're stretched pretty thin here and could use some help dealing with all the children."

James nodded. "I got Jean's call. He's coordinating with your father to get extra healers here and reunite the kids with their families. I stole Kingsley from Hogwarts; they should be here in about fifteen minutes."

"Great. We're not so short on healers, but babysitters we are not." Bill shrugged sheepishly. "They're all good kids, but they're scared…and they need more than battle-worn Aurors to reassure them. Those of us who aren't injured are pretty tired, and tired Aurors make mistakes."

"Help's on the way," James promised.

"Thanks." There were dark circles under Bill's eyes that weren't usually there; James well remembered the adrenaline crash that always came after a mission and didn't envy the Aurors who still had work to do.

Bill pulled the door open as they reached the Main Villa. "Now you want to know about Sirius."

"Am I that transparent?"

"Yeah. But he's doing okay. Surprisingly so, really, even though the Quick Heal collapsed pretty hard. The healers just finished their second round and they think it will only take one more. He should be completely healed by tonight."

A sigh of relief escaped before James could stop it, and he managed to nod. Still, the results weren't really that surprising; the healers who specialized in working with the Aurors were extremely good. What was surprising was that Sirius needed three rounds of healing. Usually, it took much less.

"He made it worse by fighting, of course," Bill pointed out gently.

"No surprise there." He managed a weak smile. "When can I see him?"

"Is now good enough for you?"

This time, James' smile was genuine; he didn't bother to answer as they stopped and Bill opened the door to Sirius' quarters. But James found himself hesitating in the doorway, suddenly frightened and short of breath. It took a gentle shove from Bill before he could force himself to stumble through the door, and even then he could not stop staring. _I am too strongly reminded of another moment, one just like this one. _Somehow, he made his way to the bedside.

"God, I wish he'd stop doing this," James breathed.

"So do we all."

Bill's answer hardly registered; James was focused on Sirius' apparently sleeping form. His breathing was a bit ragged, but steady, and his face was surprisingly unmarked. But…he was _pale._ So pale. _So much like he was that first time, at Hogwarts._ Sirius was whiter than the pillowcase his head lay upon, his features gaunt and drawn. He looked like a man who had spent three days being tortured in Azkaban, though somehow James had thought he wouldn't. Sirius' confident words beforehand had managed to convince him that everything would be all right.

"How bad was he when you arrived?" James remembered that Bill had led the team that went in for Sirius, knew he'd seen the worst of it.

"In pain, but coherent," the other replied. His eyes were also on Sirius. "We were surprised by how none of it seemed to…_bother _him. I knew he was strong, but this…"

"Yeah." James bit his lip. "But at what price?"

"One that's worth paying." Pale blue eyes flickered open. "It's only pain, Prongs."

The scratchy but still level tone made James angry for some reason. "And it's only your life that you're throwing away," he snapped.

"Haven't lost it yet."

"Sirius—"

"Bill, will you excuse us?" his friend interjected with a cough. "I think we need to have a discussion. James here doesn't like my methods."

Before James could open his mouth to argue—or even decide if he wanted to argue—Bill was gone. Fiery eyes focused on him. "Go on. Yell at me for getting myself hurt."

"I'm not here to yell at you." Merlin, Sirius could be infuriating. It took all of James' self control to keep his voice level.

"But you're angry."

"Of course I'm angry! And I'm worried. Look at yourself, Sirius. You've gone through hell _again_, and for what?"

"I got a shot at him," Sirius retorted.

"He ran away," James pointed out. "You didn't get him."

The words were cruel, but Sirius shrugged unevenly.

"That's the breaks."

"Listen to yourself. This isn't worth it. One of these days, you're not going to come home, and _then _what? How will you get him _then_?" He hadn't expected to get so loud.

"I'll get him."

"How, Sirius?" James demanded; the flat assertion rankled. "By continuing to play his games? By his rules?"

"By killing him," Sirius snapped coolly. "In case you've forgotten, James, that's the idea. The end goal. The reason I'm doing all of this!"

"I haven't forgotten! I just—"

Suddenly, he couldn't finish around the lump in his throat. He was sick of this. Sick and tired of watching Sirius leap into the fire and come out a little more burnt, a little less human, every time.

"You just what?"

"I just…worry, Sirius. About you." All of the energy drained out of James without warning. "How many more times can you do this before you lose yourself?"

Sirius sighed. "We've talked about this before."

"And I'm still not convinced." But he had been. Maybe it was that seeing Sirius wasted and hurt made James remember seeing him after ten years in Azkaban, seeing for the first time the pieces of his friend that had been burned away. Maybe—

"I am." Sirius' sudden smile stopped James' thoughts cold. He stared as Sirius continued: "I won today, Prongs. He ran, but I won."

"Because he ran?"

"In part." He was shocked to see the blue eyes shine. "He showed fear when he ran, and that's a victory. But I also beat myself, and that's what counts."

"You beat…?"

"Myself. Sirius Black. Or the worst parts of me, anyway. I'm not going to become an inadvertent Dark Lord. I won."

_And there's the answer to the question I have never known how to ask._

James swallowed. The next question escaped without warning: "You're sure?"

"Yeah." Sirius grinned, and it was the old smile, the one that had been steadily coming back these past months. The smile James had feared this new stint in Azkaban would erase forever. "I don't have to be a Dark Lord to beat him. I can do it as Sirius Black. As an Auror."

_And what if you can't?_ That was the greatest unspoken question of all. James and Alice had talked about it once, back before Sirius had come back from his little vacation. _What if you can't defeat Voldemort without becoming a Dark Lord?_ And what if Sirius dropped all promises to do what he felt he had to do? Yet…long ago, three men had vowed not to let that happen, and James didn't ask the final question. What he did ask, lightly and with a smile, was:

"You're not stupid enough to think we'll let you go at this alone, are you?"

Sirius coughed again, turned it into a smile. "No. I'm not."

-----------

The next day, Neville Longbottom came back from St. Mungo's quiet and withdrawn. From what little information his fellow Gryffindors has been able to weasel out of him, they knew his mother was still in critical condition. Yet news of the victory at Azkaban was all over the school; Professor Tonks was hard-put to shut down the wild party that had raged in the Gryffindor common room the previous night and well into the morning. By lunchtime the day Neville got back, Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, and Hufflepuff students were still clapping one another on the back in the corridors, and many of the Slytherins were still sulking. Neville, however, was hard to find.

Fred and George managed to drag him out of the second year boy's dorm shortly before dinner. Ginny sat next to him and let him eat in silence—a sharp glance shooed the twins off, and Hermione helpfully berated them for being obnoxious. Ginny's methods of cheering Neville up were much more subtle.

"How's your Mum?" she asked quietly.

Neville shrugged. "Dunno. The healers say she's still bad, but if she wakes up, she'll be all right." He swallowed. "Dad's with her."

"They wouldn't let you stay?"

"No. She woke up a little when I was there, but she didn't recognize anyone. Dad sent me back here. He's got to go back to Avalon tonight, and I couldn't stay there alone."

"I'm so sorry. I wish there was something we could do."

He shrugged. "They said all we can do is wait. We might know in a week or so."

Ginny had to swallow, searching for words. She knew what it was like to lose family (just like Neville did, after his Gran's murder), but she'd never had to wait like this, to hold her breath and pray. With Charlie and Percy, it had been so sudden. Nothing like this.

"Well, you don't have to wait alone," Hermione replied from Neville's other side, her voice soft. Ginny glanced at her and saw the pain in her friend's eyes, the memory of the parents she'd lost. Still, Hermione was rock-steady. "We're your friends, and we're here to help. No matter what."

-----------

The final count of Death Eaters was thirteen. Thanks to the current level and stress and paranoia, and that being a perpetually unlucky number, many of Voldemort's followers were actively looking around to discover who would die next. Someone had to. The Dark Lord was furious, and everyone knew what happened when he was like this.

Bellatrix was spitting mad, also, pacing the antechamber outside the room in which the Dark Lord was closeted. Two days had passed, yet he'd not emerged, working on a 'project'—or so Bella claimed. Something, however, had set her off again, and for the fifteenth or sixteenth time, she'd begun cursing and snarling at the universe at large. As far as Narcissa could gather from her sister's diatribe, Bella was more offended by the Aurors' (namely Sirius') audacity to _dare _to take Azkaban away from the Dark Lord than she was worried for her husband, currently in Auror hands.

Narcissa just watched.

Watched Death Eaters tend their wounds. Watched her sister pace. Watched anxious glances be exchanged and fear make features tight. Never had they expected this. As bad as the war got, they had always expected to have Azkaban. _Half of us weren't even sure that Casa Serpente existed, and I think Bella is the only one who has ever been here. Maybe Lucius had—_she suppressed the thought with a pang of pain—_but I never have. _She was still watching tense and nerve-wracked faces, watching them look to Bella for leadership.

Her sister was still pacing. Ranting. Raving.

Narcissa sighed. There would be no leadership from Bellatrix.

Yet she knew one certain way to survive—not to avoid the pain, which was inevitable—but to survive. She had a son, and she had to think of him. _Damn you all._ It was hard to keep her face expressionless; Narcissa so desperately wanted to snarl. She wanted to scream. _Where the hell is Severus?_ No matter. There was work to be done.

She rose and cleared her throat. "We will begin to fortify Casa Serpente. You will do as I say."

-----------

_May 13th, 1993_

**FAMOUS AUROR WAKES WITH AMNESIA**

_by_ Dora Markham, _Junior Correspondent _

In the aftermath of the Victory at Azkaban (as everyone is now

calling the battle), we must now look to the flip side of the coin.

A list of those Aurors and Death Eaters killed in the battle has

already been released, but one name has stubbornly refused to

join the names listed.

For five days, longtime Auror and former head of the Auror

Division and the Ministry's Department of Magical Law

Enforcement, Alice Longbottom has slipped in and out of a

coma. Despite the best efforts of St. Mungo's healers, patching

up her critical injuries has not gone well. Attended by her

husband of seventeen years, Frank (also an Auror) and her

twelve-year-old son Neville, Alice Longbottom has stubbornly

clung to life.

Unexpectedly, she woke up early this morning. Woke up with no

understanding of who she was, where she was, or even who her

family members were. Alice Longbottom has woken up with

amnesia. One of the few maladies for which there is no cure,

that magical knowledge cannot yet explain.

Her family was unavailable for comment following this tragedy.

Alice remains at St. Mungo's for observation; when or if she will

go home is anyone's guess.

* * *

------------

Ye Other Author's Note: A bit of a reworking caused the delay this time—I was lucky enough to have a reader point out a small discrepancy to me (thank you, ForeverSirius77!) and I had to go back and fix it. Luckily for me, the solution falls mostly in PD41 with only a small part in this chapter, so I was able to fix it. That said, please do stay tuned for PD41: "Desperate Measures," where Death Eaters waiver, Sirius goes home, and Grindelwald makes an appearance!


	42. Chapter 41: Desperate Measures

**Promises Defended

* * *

**

_Chapter Forty-One: Desperate Measures_

* * *

He stared at the burning Mark, for once enjoying the pain. It was liberating.

In truth, Severus had counted on this moment coming sooner. Days ago, really. He had been lucky; his absence during the raid on Azkaban had not been noticed in all the confusion. No one had contacted him in the succeeding days, either, which told Severus a great deal about the state of affairs at Casa Serpente. _Unless it means that Voldemort trusts me to show up on my own, and I _don't _want to think about that._ Supposing he had earned such trust led to regrets, and Severus could not afford those. Not now.

However, the Dark Lord's patience seemed to have run out. The Mark was burning wildly, after giving only a few warning twinges. Voldemort wanted him there _now, _and did not take kindly to being ignored.

Unfortunately, Severus had made his choices. For better or for worse. He knew where he was going, and it wasn't Casa Serpente. It was time to get out of range before Voldemort realized he had been betrayed.

-----------

A few more Death Eaters trickled in as Narcissa coordinated Casa Serpente's defenses, ignoring Bella's righteous fury and just trying to get the job done. She had each of the newcomers carefully inspected before they were escorted in; Narcissa knew that the Aurors would soon begin concentrating on how to locate and infiltrate the Dark Lord's final stronghold, and she would not leave the front gate open for them.

The first few days had been the worst, but as they approached the end of their first week, Voldemort's fury began to cool. Orders he issued (usually through Narcissa, as he was not fool enough to employ Bella, favorite though she was) were clear and concise, displaying none of the despair most of the Death Eaters felt. In fact, his conduct was so unflappable that the others began to wonder if this had been his plan all along. At least one Death Eater leaked that information to the media, effectively killing the masses' victorious euphoria. _Sheep_. Narcissa was almost certain that the Dark Lord was simply that good of an actor. He always had been in the past.

"Are you ready?" she asked Harper. He nodded jerkily.

"As much as I'll ever be."

"Then go." Narcissa pressed a finger against her Dark Mark, creating a small hole in Casa Serpente's Anti-Apparition bubble, just big enough for Harper to pass through. Voldemort had placed such power in her hands alone, and Narcissa was honored—and made wary—by it.

The Dark Lord had also revealed many layers of ancient wards and curses at Casa Serpente, freeing Narcissa to concentrate on her new task: recruiting.

Notices were going up. Word was being passed. Anyone who sympathized with the pureblood cause was being enticed, prodded, bribed, and coerced. They needed all of the assistance they could get, and for the first time, the Dark Lord was actively reaching out to wizards from other nations for allies. To do so would erode his power base, but there was no choice now. Sixteen Death Eaters could not conquer the world, no matter how loyal they were.

And not all of them were one hundred percent loyal these days. Of that Narcissa was certain.

-----------

She could have gone to Avalon—Jessica Avery, her old school friend, had offered to bring her—but Julia preferred to wait at Grimmauld Place. At _home_. For three days she had held her breath, praying that Sirius' assumption that Voldemort would not kill him was right. For three days, she had focused on the ring on her left hand and tried to dream of the future.

Nevermind her nightmares now. Sirius had immediately sent word from Avalon that he was all right, and Julia's world had started to spin once more. She could endure any amount of waiting so long as she knew Sirius was alive. Even the five days of healings he'd had to undergo on Avalon had not been too long to wait—she had known he was safe, and that was enough.

And now he was home. It took every shred of self control Julia possessed to keep from throwing herself at him the instant the door opened; instead, she managed to wait until Sirius was inside and the door was shut. Barely.

Julia abhorred crying and emotional women, but she could cling to him. They held tightly to one another for several long moments without saying a word, just savoring the moment, the relief. Finally, Julia managed to pull back, cup his face in her hands, and look Sirius fiercely in the eye.

"If you _ever _even _think _about doing something like that again, I'll kill you."

Sirius' laugh was the best sound she'd heard in her life. "And I'll deserve it."

"Kiss me or go back outside and start this dramatic homecoming all over again," she retorted.

He did. And they spent several long minutes busy with that kiss until they both needed oxygen too badly to continue much longer. Then Julia nestled her head into his shoulder with a sigh, truly relaxing for the first time in a very long week.

"I hate you," she said as lightly as she could, struggling to make the words a jest. "And I'll make you pay for the last few days."

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

Julia kissed him on the cheek with a smile. A _real _smile. "Oh, I know. And I will make you pay."

Being Sirius, the perpetual joker, he smiled back. "I'm dangerous, you know," he warned her with a laugh. "Even Voldemort is afraid of me."

"I'm not. I know where your ticklish spots are."

Sirius squirmed. "Can I surrender now?"

"Maybe later."

-----------

He hadn't taken Alice home. After much painful consideration, Frank had decided to leave Alice at St. Mungo's, where he knew she would be well cared for—and safe. Because he couldn't guarantee her safety back home, no matter how hard that was to admit. Until Alice remembered how to defend herself, she was a target, and Frank couldn't be there all the time…unless he quit his job.

He had considered it. For the first time, Frank Longbottom had really thought about leaving the Aurors—but he couldn't do it. Their job was a passion he and Alice had always shared, and he would not dishonor her by abandoning their shared quest. Not when the war was so close to an end.

"Hello, Frank."

The Auror jumped. Somehow, his footsteps had carried him all the way to the Minster of Magic's office, his destination. Lily rose from behind her desk as she spoke and hugged him gently.

"Hi," he managed, grateful that she didn't say more. After a moment, Lily pulled back.

"James is expecting you."

"Thanks."

He was so tired, and didn't know exactly why he was there, but Frank made his way through the open door and even managed to close it behind himself. "Hi, James."

"Frank." A firm hand clasp, nothing more—James knew better than to try to wrap words around the situation. He'd been an Auror.

Frank settled into the chair James nodded to, glancing around the room. He couldn't recall having been in the Minister's office since James took the job; he remembered guarding old Bagnold at the beginning of the war, but he'd not been in the office since. James hadn't decorated much. There was a picture of his parents on one wall and one of Hogwarts opposite that; aside from those, the walls were bare.

"I'm sorry to call you here without warning," James interrupted his line of thought. "But I've got a job for you."

Frank blinked. "I've already got one."

"I know. And I already discussed this with Sirius, so you're in the clear," James replied. Of course he knew that Frank would never go behind his boss' back. Frank just wasn't the type.

"Let's hear it, then."

"We're standing up a tribunal to deal with the Death Eaters that have been captured during the last few months," the Minister explained. "It will be composed of representatives from each country in the Alliance, and there will be an Auror attached to the Tribunal, both for their protection and to answer any questions they may have."

"Why me?"

"For a couple of reasons. Firstly, you've been in the war since the beginning, and you've become very well known because of that—even in other countries. Also, you're incorruptible. You're one of the most honest and honorable men I know.

Frank frowned. "I'm hardly an impartial observer in this, James."

"I know. And I'm not asking you to be," James replied. "I need you to be the voice of experience, the Tribunal's window into what it's been like to fight this war. I want you for this job because you're fair and you're honest—but more so because of what you've been through. You've been an Auror. You've been in Azkaban. You've lost family. You've _been _there. The Tribunal will make the judgments, but most of them have been removed from the war. We have to chose people who have so that this doesn't turn into a mockery of justice.

"But your experiences matter. I need you to be their connection to what's happened."

"You sound like you actually mean the Death Eaters to have fair trials." Frank couldn't keep the surprise out of his voice.

James grimaced slightly. "Yes, I do. But I don't want them to get off, either, simply because we're trying to be impartial," he stressed. "You won't be there to make decisions, but your presence can help the Tribunal a lot. If you're willing."

What James wasn't mentioning was that such a task would keep Frank out of the Aurors scheduled missions, would keep him safe. _And let me spend more time with Alice._ He recognized Sirius' hand in this.

Frank took a deep breath. "Sure. I'll do it."

James smiled and thanked him, probably thinking that Frank's reputation for straightforward honor and incorruptible loyalty made him agree. But James was wrong. He'd do it because this needed to be done…and because he'd promised Alice that he'd keep fighting their fight. Until the end.

-----------

She sent the second group of recruiters out with hardly a second glance. Save for the foreign support promised by a certain Merlin Magellan (the self-styled Warlord of Hispania de Magique), few new members were forthcoming. Oh, yes, their numbers had swelled to nineteen—but two of those "recruits" had been all but dragged in by William Jugson, reluctant family members who had suddenly found themselves Death Eaters. But that number sank back down to eighteen when Stephanie Adams disappeared.

Narcissa had the feeling that this was only the first defection of many.

_Rather, the second of many_. She was still surprised, still waiting for the other shoe to fall. _Snape_, indomitable, ambitious, and devious Severus Snape, had disobeyed the Dark Lord's summons to Casa Serpente. Moreover, he'd sent no message. He had simply…vanished.

Severus was the one man Narcissa had been sure would never waiver. He had been there since almost the beginning, and had proven himself time and again. Until now.

She wished that she could talk with him and ask him why. Just to know. Never before had Narcissa cared why a Death Eater deserted—weaklings, all of them—but Severus was different. He always had reasons, and Narcissa desperately wanted to understand what had pushed him over the edge _now_, when for so many years nothing had fazed him at all. What force in the universe could break that unbreakable resolve?

-----------

"…this Tribunal will consist of nine members: one each from the following nations of the Alliance Against Evil: France, Switzerland, Germany, Belgium, Canada, China, and Austria, in addition to two members from Wizarding Britain. The names of all nine members will be kept secret for their safety, but I am authorized to tell you that the Tribunal will be meeting at Nurmengard Prison, which has been reopened to house the prisoners in question.

"As many of you remember, Nurmengard Prison was closed in 1987, following a savage attack by Voldemort and his followers in search of Gellert Grindelwald. Fortunately, Grindelwald had been moved long before the attack, but Voldemort did free many dangerous prisoners. The Swiss authorities have spent much of the past seven years tracking them down and rebuilding the prison.

"Now Nurmengard Prison has been reopened and a combined force of Aurors from each nation of the Alliance will guard the prison during the trials…"

Mr. Bishop turned the volume on the wireless down as a customer entered his shop. He did not bother to look over his shoulder.

"I did not expect to see you here, Sirius."

"I thought you might enjoy the speech," was the reply, and Grindelwald chuckled.

"It has been a long time since my name was in the news," he replied lightly. Finally, he turned to face the younger wizard. Despite himself, he'd grown—oh, not quite fond of or proud of, but _satisfied_ with the Auror. Sirius Black was much like he'd hoped Tom Riddle would become, save for his annoying habit of conforming to what others defined as 'right.' For a young man who loved mischief so much, he was irritatingly…_good_.

"It's a shame that we can't get more publicity out of you, but I think the public would have a seizure if the Ministry mentioned that you're still at large."

"Or that the heroic and widely-mourned Albus Dumbledore let me out on the condition that I should sin no more?" Another chuckle followed his crooked smile, though this one was slightly forced. He missed Albus, missed him terribly. Albus had been the only one who'd ever been able to keep up with him. Even this one, brilliant though he was, came nowhere close. _Except for that I've always known that I'm only seeing a part of the whole. _Grindelwald had long since suspected that the four together were unbeatable—their incalculable strength lay in that friendship.

_Poor Tom. He could never understand that, never having had such friends of his own. Together, Albus and I were invincible—it was our breaking apart, our friendship, that brought me down. _

Had Tom broken them apart when he had the chance, he would not have had his current problems. He'd kept them divided for ten years, but the overconfident fool had crafted his own destruction. He'd let _this _one escape, and the four had come back together. Inseparable. _Just like Albus and I._ Sirius' voice jerked him free of the memories.

"Tell me about Nurmengard."

"A very effective prison. Just as secure as your Azkaban, without the added benefit of driving the inmates insane." He smiled slightly. "Certainly strong enough to hold me."

"Really." Sirius didn't sound at all convinced.

Grindelwald just smiled.

"So, why did Dumbledore set you free?"

"Break me out, you mean?" He laughed aloud, remembering his own shock the day that the famous, good-doing Albus Dumbledore snuck the _evil _Gellert Grindelwald out of Nurmengard Prison, secretly and illegally, just a few months before the attack. Such a departure from the norm that had been!

Sirius smiled but did not laugh. "What did you promise him?"

"That I should sin no more, of course." His tone was light, but Grindelwald felt his eyes narrow. "You would not be asking if you did not already know."

"Dumbledore's portrait told Remus."

"And here I thought that your friends did not know you were meeting with me." _And I am not prepared to share that conversation with you, _boy_, so don't ask. What I promised Albus is my business, and my business alone._

"I learned my lesson about keeping secrets from them," Sirius replied.

"Ah." He wasn't going to ask what the portrait had told Hogwarts' headmaster. He trusted that Albus had kept secrets secret. "So, now you are here to call in that…favor."

"No. I'm here to ask for your help." Grindelwald felt his eyebrows rise. "Whatever you owed Dumbledore isn't my business. But he died in the war we're fighting…and I think he let you go because you could help. So now I'm asking for that help. To win."

He forced a chuckle, buying time. "Albus always did believe far too much in the basic goodness of wizardkind."

Damn the boy, Sirius just waited.

"What do you want?" he finally asked.

Sirius smiled slightly. "I'd like you to take charge of the defenses at Nurmengard."

"You'd what?"

"I thought you'd appreciate the irony." The smile blossomed into a grin.

For a long moment, all Grindelwald could do was stare. Not often was he surprised, but _this…_ Of course, the world would never learn who Gellert Bishop really was, but Voldemort would recognize the magical signature and worry. The very concept was brilliant, and it would keep the Tribunal safe…provided Grindelwald stayed tame. Sirius was waiting patiently, and the former Dark Lord sighed.

"I don't do this for you, you realize. Or for your precious war."

"I know," the other replied quietly.

_Damn you, Albus. _

-----------

"…I know I'm young, but they're asking sixth and seventh years, so I thought that I might volunteer—"

"Asking? Who is asking?" Narcissa demanded. She'd been half paying attention to her son as he babbled on about marks, Potter, too many Weasleys, and some bloody Gryffindors who styled themselves "Misfits", but the moment the conversation turned to Death Eaters, she gave the head in her fire a hard glare.

"Jugson. He said that his father told him that the Dark Lord is looking for those who are loyal to—"

"Draco!"

He stared at her, surprised by the harsh tone. "What?"

"You will do no such thing," Narcissa snapped. "You will not even think about it. You're far too young."

"I'm thirteen, Mum, and I can help—"

"Absolutely not." She forced herself to take a deep breath. To lock the sudden pain away. "Draco, we have lost your father in this war. I will not lose you as well."

"I'm not going to die. I just want to fight!"

Narcissa had to close her eyes for a moment; only then could she keep her voice level. "You are all that remains of the Malfoy family, my son. Your responsibility is to continue the blood line, not to throw away your life on a battle that cannot be won."

"Jugson is saying—"

"He is wrong, Draco. Stay far away from Jugson and the others. Tell them that you are too young and that I forbid it." Her mind was racing far ahead of her words, searching for the next step. "Please."

After a moment, her son nodded. Reluctantly, but obediently. "I understand."

"Thank you," she breathed. Then Narcissa forced a smile. "I love you, Draco."

"Love you too, Mum."

-----------

"Welcome to the Misfits, Neville," Hermione said with a smile as Ron and Harry led their fellow second year into the Room of Requirement.

"The what?" Neville looked from one to the other and back again in confusion. They hadn't explained, of course; they'd simply asked him to come along and had all but dragged Neville when he'd hesitated.

"The MISFITS," Ron started. "The—"

"Magical," Fred piped up.

"Invisible," George continued.

"Society." Fred again.

"For." George.

"Instigating." Fred.

"Trouble." George.

"Otherwise known as—"

"The Misfits," the twins finished together.

"Also known as," George added as an afterthought—

"Pranksters," Lee clarified with a grin as Neville stared.

A long moment ticked by.

"Even you?" Neville finally asked Hermione in surprise.

She smiled sheepishly. "Every last one of us. Care to join?"

Eyes wide, Neville looked at each in turn. Fred. George. Hermione. Lee. Ron. Harry. Ginny. Each was smiling hopefully, but suddenly Hermione felt guilty. They should have invited Neville to join a long time ago, shouldn't have waited until now, when Neville desperately needed something to make him smile. The other boy swallowed.

"Sure." And the sadness in Neville's eyes faded, just a bit. "I'm in."

-----------

One of James' best secrets as an Auror was that he had a trick memory. It wasn't perfect—he still had a tendency to forget every meeting that Lily put on his weekly schedule and simple House Cleaning Charms—but he could always remember silly little facts. For example, James could name every seventh-year Ravenclaw from the worst novel he'd ever read (_Murder Most Foul in the Astronomy Tower_, by Tussman Petrificus, the name of his childhood neighbor (three houses down)'s pet bat, and the fact that Nott was one of the few Death Eaters who had ever been to Casa Serpente.

He had promised Nott and Travers immunity from prosecution on the promise that they would stay out of the war from here on out—and that they would testify against their former compatriot Death Eaters. Yet James had been smart enough to put in an extra line at the bottom of their conditional pardons: that the Ministry could ask for and expect assistance in the war from both turncoats, provided that contribution did not require them to fight against their old lord.

"I can't do that." Nott was almost shaking, which should have surprised James but didn't. "Absolutely not. I would die."

"All I am asking is that you lead the Aurors there," the Minister reminded him. Strictly following the rules, James shouldn't have been handling this case, but Nott and Travers wouldn't talk to anyone who wasn't pureblooded enough to 'understand'. As the Head of DMLE, Sirius should have been then one, but they seemed afraid of Sirius. _No surprise, that._

"He'll know if I do that. And besides, I don't really _know _where Casa Serpente is—I only know where on the grounds to Apparate to, and that place is surely being watched." Nott's brown eyes were white-rimmed and wide. "I'd die even if no one else did. He'll make _certain _of that."

James checked a sigh. "We can protect you, and we'll get you out of there as soon as possible. The chances of anyone noticing you are small."

"No." Now Nott really _was_ shaking. "Look—you can throw me in prison all you want, but I'm not going to Casa Serpente. No one goes there without the Dark Lord's permission and lives, and I got out of that because I want to live. I'd rather take my chances with a trial."

-----------

"I'm leaving, Bella."

Narcissa kept her voice quiet as they walked in the shadow of Salazar Slytherin's statue. The air was unseasonably cool, making Narcissa uncomfortable—or perhaps simply the situation was making her feel that way. _I have never felt so…out of place. So awkward._

"I shall see you when you return, then," her sister replied easily, hardly paying attention. Instead, she was staring worshipfully at the Slytherin statue. "The resemblance is uncanny, isn't it?"

"What?"

"The resemblance." Bella's eyes glowed. "He really is Slytherin come again."

Narcissa blinked. "I…suppose."

"We will not lose." Her voice was dreamy. "This is merely a setback. With a cause so just and a leader so great, we cannot fail. We shall rise from the ashes like the legendary phoenix, to rule the world as is our blood right…"

Narcissa bit her lip as her sister continue to ramble, contemplating just leaving, _going_, turning away as Bella pontificated about how the Dark Lord's follower could not lose, how he was great and good and blood would tell… _Empty words_. Narcissa was no idealist. She never had been. Of the three Black sisters, she had always been the pragmatic one. Bellatrix had been the dreamer, and Andromeda the rebel. Narcissa had always been correct, seamless, poised, and strong. She always knew what had to be done.

Just as she knew now. Leaving without a farewell would be beneath her, however; blood ties demanded better.

"Bella," she interjected softly.

"…He will lead us out of the darkness and those who have risen against Right will _pay—_"

"Bellatrix!"

Heavy-lidded eyes focused on her. "Yes, sister?"

There was something wild in Bella's eyes, something wounded and something cornered. Narcissa swallowed; she regretted this already.

"I am leaving," she said quietly. "And I am not coming back."

"You're what?" Such a blank look.

"I am leaving Casa Serpente. My first duty is to my son, and I must keep him safe. Without him, the Malfoy line will die, and I will not permit that to happen." _I already lost Lucius. I will not lose Draco, too._ Remembering the old pain almost made her miss Bella's response.

"The Dark Lord has given his permission for you to depart?"

She took a deep breath. "No. And I will not seek it. I am done with this war."

"You are _what_?"

"I must protect my son, Bella. He comes first."

"What treason do you speak of? You cannot abandon the Dark Lord!" Bella's voice was nearly a scream. She spun on Narcissa, who crossed her arms, looking her sister in the eye.

"I do not seek to betray him. But I must leave." Her voice was level, but her right hand closed on the wand stashed up her left sleeve.

"Betray? _Betray!_" The wounded eyes had gone wild. "Traitor!"

"_Stupefy._" The spell came out as a whisper, but Bella collapsed into a heap.

Swallowing, Narcissa bent to brush hair out of her sister's face, a cold hand of ice closing around her heart. Bellatrix would always be dear to her, no matter how painful it had been to watch her mind decay over the years. Narcissa had loved her all of her life, and would miss her desperately.

"I am sorry, Bellatrix," she breathed, then raised her wand and Apparated away. She was finished with this war.

* * *

-----------

Ye Old Other Author's Note: The world is in a flat spiral, and PD42 "Victory and Nothing Less" is on the way! Stay tuned for Dementors, vanishing landmasses, ultimatums, visions, and Sherwood Forest—and while you're at it, please do review and tell me what you think.


	43. Chapter 42: Victory And Nothing Less

**Promises Defended

* * *

**

_Chapter Forty-Two: Victory and Nothing Less_

* * *

"I need to hold a news conference, James."

"Hold a what?" the Minster of Magic pushed his glasses into place absently, looking up from the stack of papers on his desk.

"A news conference," Sirius repeated, lounging in a chair across from James' desk, his feet propped up on the short table.

"What for?" James' eyes narrowed. "You're not going to announce—?"

"And cause worldwide panic?" he barked out with a laugh. "Do you think I'm _that _crazy?"

"You don't want me to answer that, mate."

Sirius snickered, sipping his ale. They were working late, the Minister of Magic and the head of his Department of Magical Law Enforcement, sitting together in casual companionship that they so rarely got to share. It was nice to relax, even if they did have to discuss business to do it.

"So, what _do _you want to do?"

----------

"Oi, Hestia!"

The senior Auror turned as Tonks shouted; Hestia was doing her customary morning rounds of the island and had just left the prison complex, heading out towards the coast. Tonks, on the other hand, was standing barefoot in the sand, water up to her ankles and rising as the waves crashed against the beach.

"What is it?"

"Tide's coming in," Tonks replied, staring out at the water. She'd left her boots further up on the beach, but the waves had almost reached them already. Her robes were getting wet, too, but a simple Drying Charm could solve that, later. Soggy leather, however, was much harder to dry, and that was annoying.

"So…?" Hestia prompted, making Tonks jump. Already, she'd almost forgotten that she'd called the other Auror over.

"Oh. Sorry." Tonks smiled apologetically, but couldn't take her eyes off of the still-rising water. "The tide shouldn't be coming in yet."

"What do you mean?"

"I checked the Tide Tables last night when the waves started getting bigger," she answered, watching the water make it halfway to her knees and fail to retreat. "We should be at low tide, now. The shore should be out there." She pointed at a random point about twenty-five feet into the surf, frowning. "Something isn't right."

Hestia shook her head; Tonks could hear her earrings clinking. "I'm not sure I follow you."

"The weather's funny. Like Avalon, you see?" Clearly, Hestia didn't. Her expression was completely blank. "Azkaban is supposed to be dark and gloomy, but that's the sun peeking through the clouds. And the tides are fluctuating. This isn't normal."

"What makes it like Avalon?" the other asked, and Tonks fought the need to sigh. She wished Bill was there, instead of off managing things on Avalon while Frank was away.

"The islands are linked. Always have been. And their weather always means something."

"I guess we'll have to take your word for that." The reply sounded skeptical, but at least Hestia was listening. "So, what does it mean?"

Tonks bit her lip. "I don't know."

"Oh. That's great."

"Sorry. I probably have to go back to Avalon and do some research—"

"Oy! Tonks! Hestia! _Look!_" Oscar's constant shouting made both Aurors' heads snap around. Tonks spun so quickly that she unbalanced and landed, rear first, in the water, splashing Hestia in the progress. Swearing, she picked herself up, only to stub her little right toe on a shell that hadn't been there before. Tonks continued to grumble, but finally managed to straighten up and _stare._

She was fresh out of swear words. The prison complex was fading.

----------

"_Ladies and Gentlemen, we interrupt our previously scheduled programming to bring you some late-breaking news: the Alliance Against Evil has increased its numbers again. Now joining Wizarding Britain in our fight against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and his followers, the Netherlands and Spain have pledged any and all assistance they can offer in the war. Spain, in particular, has started with the capture of the notorious criminal and would-be Dark Lord Merlin Magellan. The Spanish Ministry has released news indicating that twenty more of Magellan's followers were also captured, preventing his planned alliance with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named…"_

----------

She was not the person Remus had expected to find in his office. Cold, distant, and proud, Narcissa Malfoy faced him with a straight back and no expression on her face.

"I am here to withdraw my son from Hogwarts." Her voice was incredibly level, frighteningly so.

"May I ask why?" Remus inquired delicately.

"I hope that the withdrawal will be temporary," Narcissa continued as if he had not asked. "Perhaps as long as a month or two. I hope it will not be longer."

"I…see," Remus managed. What did one say to that?

"I would be grateful if you would send for him. Immediately." The tension finally showed in that last word; she was nervous.

_Nervous._ The truth smacked Remus so hard that he found breathing difficult. Suddenly, he knew what was happening. She was _running._ Narcissa Malfoy was taking Draco with her and bolting before the war could be lost—but which side was she fleeing from? Did she fear the Aurors' eventual coming, or was she terrified of the Dark Lord? _Perhaps both?_ Her suddenly raw whisper interrupted Remus' train of thought:

"Please. I must keep him safe."

"Of course." He rose, tucking his thoughts tidily away. A few months away from school would do Draco Malfoy little good, but his mother was right. His absence would probably be only a few months long—either the war would end or Voldemort would win and the Malfoys would die. "I will fetch him myself."

----------

The Aurors had been called in, of course, because there wasn't another branch of the Ministry that could deal with such things. Once upon a time, the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes might have been detailed out to the small Wizarding homestead just north of Edwinstowe. But these days, the Aurors were all the Ministry had…so they went. This wasn't exactly in their job descriptions, but at least they probably wouldn't get themselves killed.

Probably.

"How bad is it?" Bill asked the healer.

Her hair was brown and tangled, and she looked scared. He wished there was some way to reassure her, but the condition of the twin nine-year-old boys she was treating seemed to sap the life out of her eyes. _I know how she feels._

"Bad," she whispered. "William has definitely been Kissed. Henry seems to be responding to chocolate a little…but I'm not sure." Her voice shook. "I've never had to deal with Dementors before. I thought they were all dead."

Bill swallowed. "So did we."

A glance over his shoulder showed that Tonks was still comforting the boys' distraught parents. They were horrified now; anger would come later. She met his eyes and shrugged helplessly. There really was nothing that could be said to make things better.

Bill knew that from experience.

He tore his thoughts away from _his_ brothers and turned towards the third child, a ten-year-old blonde girl, less than a year away from leaving for Hogwarts. She was the neighbors' daughter, a longtime playmate of the twins. Her mother had dried her tears, and parents and child both were staring at the Auror with huge eyes. Bill crouched down in front of her.

"Hello, Morgan. My name is Bill."

"'Lo." Her voice was so soft that he had to strain to hear her. _I hate doing this._

"Did you see what happened?"

Morgan shook her head violently, and Bill had to wait while her mother dried a second bout of tears away. The Auror swallowed and whispered an apology to her father, receiving a nod in return. Once her tears quieted, he tried again.

"Can you tell me how many Dementors there were?"

A long moment passed before she held up three fingers. Bill nodded and gave her a small smile in return.

"Do you know which way they went?" he asked gently.

"Down…down the street," Morgan mumbled.

"Towards your house or away from it?" He knew that Morgan's home was south of the twins' house, and vague knowledge of which direction the Dementors had gone was better than nothing.

"Away." Her voice was as thin as a wraith's, but the answer was certain.

"Thank you, Morgan." Bill nodded to her parents gratefully and rose, glancing at his partner. Empty words of comfort would prove worthless in the long run; there was not a thing more they could accomplish by staying. "Ready?"

"Let's go."

----------

_He was looking at four faces. Four faces he knew far too well._

_He'd hated those faces when he was young. Four boys who had everything and felt the need to brag about it to everyone else. Oh, he'd hated them. Never as rotten as he'd wanted them to be, they'd still had everything he'd ever wanted._

_They were men, now, but the boys in the painting were not._

_One of those men was standing at the painting. Black hair, blue eyes. The reckless one. The hero._

_He had a letter in his hand. And now he was—_

Flash.

_Walking._ _One man. Walking._

_Alone and—_

Change.

_Four men._ _Walking._

Snap.

_High pitched laughter._

_A high stone wall with serpents adorning the gates._

_Death and destruction._

Break.

_One man._

_Four men._

_Walking._

He woke up shaking, not sure if he was afraid or not. Only that there were choices yet to be made, and he could not be a part of them. Not any more. Now he could only play his part in the greater whole, all the while praying that it would be enough.

----------

"We have to test it," George announced.

"Just to see," Ron added. "I can't believe you didn't tell us about this, Hermione!"

"No, I can't believe I'm telling you now," she snapped back. "It's not a toy, Ron!"

He flushed red. "I didn't say it was!"

"No, you just want to _see _what will happen! As if that will do no harm! It's a Time Turner, not something to play pranks with. Bad things happen to wizards who play with time!" Hermione was red, too, but in her case it was with anger.

"We don't want to play with it," Fred interjected before Hermione could start in on a lecture. (Harry was immediately grateful for that. No matter how long she'd been a prankster, Hermione still possessed that annoying tendency to lecture the others on right and wrong. Or on Hogwarts History. Or any random academic point. Or lecture them on _anything_ for that matter; Hermione always knew something about everything, and always needed to share it.)

"We just think that we ought to _test_ the Time Turner," George reasoned. "That way, we understand how it works so that we can use it if we need to."

"Stop trying to reason with me," she retorted. "The answer is no."

"_Hermione_," at least four voices pleaded, Harry's included. They'd pulled off a successful prank on some unsuspecting Slytherins earlier (all of which now had bright pink undergarments and lilac robes), but it hadn't been that hard. The Misfits were bored.

"All we have to do is back up a few minutes. Just to watch ourselves argue," Ginny put in.

"Or we could go back to watch the Slytherins notice their pink underwear," Neville added, and everyone looked at him in surprise. He smiled a bit hesitantly, and Harry saw Hermione's resolve melt a bit.

"It'd be neat to watch their faces if they couldn't see us," Neville explained further.

"Well…" Hermione wavered.

"Heads up!" Lee's voice dropped to an urgent whisper. "Professor Lupin!"

The Time Turner disappeared deep into the pockets of Hermione's robes, and the Misfits spun to face the headmaster plastering their most innocent looks into place. _Not like it will fool him for one moment, but he might let us slip by, _Harry thought, trying not to smile. _Again._ After all, Remus was wonderful about pretending to see nothing unless he caught them in the act.

"Good evening, Professor Lupin," Ginny said for all of them. She looked the most innocent, of course—somehow, she always did, no matter how many detentions she was assigned.

"Good afternoon, children," Remus replied, studying faces one by one. They all managed to meet his eyes, and Harry saw the slight tick at the corner of his mouth that always happened when Remus was trying not to smile. "What brings you together on this fine afternoon?"

George beat Fred to the answer: "Planning mischief, Professor."

"Lots of mischief," the other twin added with a grin.

Remus laughed. "And do you assume that answer won't get you into trouble, Mr. Weasley?"

"We were kind of counting on your experience in the field as sort of a sympathy vote," Lee admitted.

"Is that so?"

"Umm…" Unexpectedly, the twins trailed off and turned to Harry for help. He felt his eyes go wide, but then Remus was watching him and he had to think fast.

"Uh…yes?" Remus' expression didn't change. "Sort of? Did it work?"

The headmaster chuckled again. "Not well enough, Mr. Potter," he replied. "Perhaps an evening of cleaning the courtyard will teach you to come up with better explanations."

_Oh, great._

Remus was already turning to leave, and there was no point in arguing when he used _that _tone. "Be there at seven o'clock," the headmaster called over his shoulder.

"Yes, Professor," the Misfits chorused, and then waited for him to walk out of earshot.

"Way to go, Harry." Fred got in first.

"Yeah, thanks ever so much," George added.

"Sorry." The apology was lame and he knew it; besides, the Misfits would never let a friend off so easily. Lee let out a snort of laughter.

"You're my hero, now. King of plausible explanations!"

"Some best friend _you_ are," Ron groused as the Misfits turned for the castle. There was no point in testing the Time Turner today; Remus would be watching them now. Ginny held back and elbowed him in the ribs.

"That was absolutely brilliant, you know. Most brilliant answer I've ever heard. Saved us all."

"Oh, shut up."

Her answer was a snicker, and they trailed the others back inside.

----------

Sherwood Forest was one of the most legendary locations in Great Britain, but it was also one of the least magical. Very few witches and wizards lived anywhere near it; those north of Edwinstowe were the only ones within a hundred miles, and the forest was amazingly thin there—Muggle civilization had taken over enough acerage that the Aurors hadn't even realized the town was technically in the middle of the forest. As such, neither Bill nor Tonks had ever been there, or had ever expected to visit. Why would they? There were plenty of more magical forests for wizards to frequent, and both had more than enough of the Forbidden Forest while at Hogwarts. Love of nature was not a trait they shared; obscure history, myths, and mysteries, yes. Nature…not so much.

Tonks swatted a branch out of their way, grumbling about bugs and false advertising—the Bug Repellent Charm that they'd both learned at Hogwarts did not work nearly so well as their old Charms Professors had claimed it would. Less than a heartbeat later, she wound up tripping over the roots of a giant oak tree, sprawling all over Bill's feet and smacking her elbow hard into the tree's trunk. _That'll complement the welt on her forehead nicely_. Swearing, she picked herself up, then glared at Bill as if she was daring him to comment.

He just smiled fondly, unable to imagine having a student or a partner less clumsy than Tonks. She glared harder, and then finally rolled her eyes. Arguing was pointless. They'd played out this scene at least a hundred times on different missions, and Bill never laughed at her.

"Why in the world would Dementors be hiding _here_?" she finally asked. "There's absolutely nothing in this forest. It's…_boring_." She spat the last word out like a curse.

"Perhaps they've heard legends of Merry Men and think they would like a Kiss." Bill's early fascination with curse breaking had led him to study all kinds of legends, and Tonks had been raised by a Muggleborn father. They both knew the tales of Robin Hood and his Merry Men.

Tonks snorted. "Do you think Dementors like children's tales?"

"Well, either they like the stories or we've trailed them here from Nottingham," Bill grinned. "You make the call."

She just laughed. The pair had left Nottingham on foot a little over two hours ago, and they'd been working their way closer to the trio of Dementors ever since.

"So, which of the Merry Men do you like best?" Tonks asked. "Personally, I've always adored Will Scarlet. There's something about dangerous and slightly crazy men—_ooh. _There they are."

Bill shivered. "I feel it, too."

The trees were darker up ahead, more shadowed and _colder_. The sky above them was graying out, and the wind picked up even as Bill spoke. Tonks hesitated for a half stride, and Bill moved up on her right so that they were shoulder to shoulder. Their wands rose together, Tonks shifting hers smoothly to her left hand.

"Ready?" he asked.

"Ready."

Going after only three Dementors seemed almost anticlimactic after what they'd done in Azkaban and at the Ministry but Bill was determined not to get overconfident. One Dementor was all it took to ruin a life, and these three had already destroyed at least one child. That was more than reason enough to destroy them forever.

The Aurors stepped around a clump of trees and into the darkness. Another convulsive shiver tore down Bill's spine.

They were expected; all three Dementors surged forward immediately.

"_Amospero Aminaes Odinfragilisecrum!"_

White light filled the clearing—or was that the sun coming back?—and the Dementors crumbled to dust. Both Aurors jumped forward to make sure that there were no other creatures lurking, or—worse yet—escaping, but the clearing was empty. The clouds were already sliding aside, and the air felt warm again. The clearing felt alive. Bill let out the breath he'd been holding. _Anticlimactic, indeed._

"That was almost too easy."

"Don't say that," Tonks replied immediately. "It's bad luck."

"Oops. Do you see anything?"

"No, but that doesn't mean you have to brag." She was smiling, though.

"Sure it does."

"Let's just clean this mess up."

It had become Auror policy to never leave Dementor ashes behind. Although they had no idea what uses those ashes might have, no one on the Aurors' side was eager to find out. Bill and Tonks spent almost a half hour cleaning all of the ashes away (and checking the area, one more time, just to be sure). They would bring the ashes back to Avalon for study when the Aurors had time.

----------

"Thank you for coming," Sirius began. His palms were flat on the podium and his eyes were looking straight into the crowd. He was projecting an image and knew it, because he needed everyone to see strength. Calming breath. Smile politely. _I hate the press._

_Imagine them all in flowered pink underwear, _Peter had said. But the thought almost made him laugh, and that would not have been a good idea. _Be serious, Sirius._ Also not a calm-inducing thought. Not snickering was hard, but he didn't need to seem the prankster now. Not for people who viewed him as their only hope.

That, indeed, was a sobering thought. It made his voice level. Unhurried. Light.

"I must start with an apology. I haven't called you all together today to tell you anything monumental—I'm afraid to tell you that I plan on using you, just a bit. Though I promise to play nicely."

His quip was rewarded by smiles and a little nervous laughter. Sirius grinned back for a moment—_Siriusly_ _pink underwear!_—and then his expression sobered. The response was chilling; the crowd quieted immediately.

"Ladies and gentlemen, my message is not for you. It is for Tom Marvolo Riddle, the man who styles himself Lord Voldemort."

At least a hundred people gasped. No one dared use that name, and especially not in public. _Most of them probably don't even know it. If they ever did, they've willingly forgotten it, because fear will make us do many foolish things. _Sirius met one set of eyes, and then another. He was not afraid. _So, too, will belief make us act—either foolishly or bravely. What I do today could easily be counted as either one. _His voice grew stronger and the words came easier.

"My message is this: You asked me once if I wanted to end the war once and for all. I am ready to do so. Come out, face me, and let us end this. Just you and me.

"I have made the challenge. I await a response."

-----------

Ye Old Other Author's Note: The gauntlet has been thrown, and it's made a loud noise hitting the ground! Stick with me for PD43: "Between This Moment and Then," where Grindelwald twists Voldemort's tail (just for fun!), the relationship between Avalon and Azkaban is finally revealed, and the Marauders' Painting is unveiled. I hope you enjoyed, and please do review!


	44. Chapter 43: Between This Moment and Then

**Promises Defended **

* * *

_Chapter Forty-Three: Between This Moment and Then_

* * *

On the morning of May 18th, everything changed. 

Six Aurors slept on Azkaban as a caretaking force, as the first line of defense. Help, if needed, was just a message away; the islands had been so thoroughly linked that one could Apparate freely between the two, although no one could Apparate to or from Azkaban from anywhere but Avalon. For the moment, their sole concern was to keep Voldemort from retaking the Isle of Darkness—all else could be dealt with later.

Six Aurors woke up in their beds on the morning of the eighteenth. In their beds on _Avalon_.

Immediately, independently, each chose a place on Azkaban to Apparate to, knowing that they needed to return without delay. One wound up in Pri-App, another on the docks, two more found themselves in the library, and the last two in the foyer of the Main Villa. Hestia Jones and Oscar Whitenack stared at one another in shock. Both started at the same time:

"What are you—?"

"—supposed to be on Azkaban!"

"How did you get here?" Hestia demanded after a moment.

"I—I was on Azkaban and woke up in bed here. I tried to Apparate to the Delivery Gate and next I knew—"

"You were here." Her voice was flat.

"You, too?"

"Clearly. Sound the alarm."

-------------

"Are you sure this is going to work?" Frank asked quietly. He disliked fretting and second guessing, but the defenses _waiting _to be activated at Nurmengard went against the grain. Oh, he was perfectly happy to wait until the last moment to attack, and he had no qualms with drawing the enemy in. But these methods were…different.

"Nothing is ever certain." His companion chuckled quietly. "But I can assure you that Riddle is in for a nasty surprise."

Frank swallowed. "I hope so."

"Dear boy, if you don't want my assistance, I can always leave."

"No." He fought back the urge to swear. "Please stay."

"Only because you said please."

What _had _Sirius been thinking? The Tribunal was as safe as Frank could make them, but Nurmengard was seriously undermanned—most of the Aurors promised by other nations had yet to arrive. All were scheduled to show up within the next week—until then, Frank was on his own.

On his own except for five Swiss Aurors and the most dangerous shopkeeper Frank had ever met. It made little sense; he'd visited Pendulum Games with Neville several times over the years, and Mr. Bishop had always struck him as a nice and gentlemanly old wizard, possessing a Dumbledore-esque sense of humor but in no way powerful or dangerous. Yet Sirius had sent Mr. Bishop along with few instructions: just to listen to the man and understand that he knew Nurmengard Prison in ways no one else did.

It had occurred to Frank more than once that Bishop was old enough to have been involved in Nurmengard's creation, though why he would have been, Frank did not know. He did know that there were moments when Mr. Bishop reminded him very strongly of Albus Dumbledore. _Perhaps he's a distant relation. That would be nice._ Bishop's voice was light and playful.

"Are you ready, Frank?"

Deep breath. "Yes."

-------------

Every Auror on the island had gathered within minutes, including all six Azkaban caretakers. Storm clouds enveloped Hestia's face the moment she saw them, but she explained the situation in clipped and concise tones. Six Aurors had been displaced from Azkaban, and they could no longer reach the prison island. Discussion erupted immediately. Everyone but Tonks was shouting. She was thinking. Remembering.

"—Need to form a team to head out immediately and reconnoiter the island. Assuming Voldemort has taken it, we need to recapture the island as quickly as possible, especially before he can gather more support," Jean was saying to Bill.

Clearwater wondered: "Has someone let Sirius know? This may be in response to his press—"

"Not to mention that he's the only one who can stop Voldemort," Hestia interjected dryly. "I'm not sure we should jump into this so quickly."

"I concur," Bill replied, overriding Jean. "The recon team is going to have to go in by boat, anyway—we all know Azkaban can't be seen from the air—so we can stop to plan. Carefully. If Voldemort is responsible, which I find very unlikely seeing as how the six of you are still alive, we need to be very cautious. He's been cornered, and that makes him more dangerous than ever."

"Yes, but if we don't hurry, he has more time to entrench himself," someone else pointed out. Tonks wasn't really listening, and didn't recognize the voice offhand. Her eyes were riveted on the book in her hands, reading feverishly.

"He's had all night to do that," Avery responded.

**The islands are, necessarily, two sides of the same coin, unable to be **

**separated** **as they are forever connected. That said, the two sides only **

**exist** **out of necessity. Should the needs of the world become balanced, **

**should** **dark and light merge, it is reasonable to believe that the two **

**islands** **should become one…**

Tonks looked up from _On Avalon _after reading the passage three times. "Umm—"

"I'll take the recon team," Hestia interjected. "Do we have a suitable boat?"

"I don't think we need—" Tonks tried again.

"We should," Avery replied. "I checked the boathouse yesterday and—"

"Shut up!" Tonks finally interrupted, flushing as every eye focused on her. Bill looked concerned.

"Tonks?"

"Sorry." She smiled a bit sheepishly, her face still burning. "But I don't think we should go looking for Azkaban yet. I don't think it's _there._"

"What?" at least thirty voices asked. People were looking at her as if she'd gone batty, and Tonks bristled. Only Bill looked thoughtful, but even his frown was skeptical.

"Look, Bill and I have been doing a lot of research on Avalon and Azkaban—we started when the weather here got strange and just kept going. Avalon and Azkaban are more than linked. They are sister islands—two of the same kind. And they were originally the same island."

The shocked hush seemed to be the calm before the storm, so Tonks rushed on before someone could argue.

"Some of what I'm about to say is only conjecture. Other things are fact. Here is what I know for sure: history records only the existence of one island, Avalon. And Avalon has moved more than once over the years, from within a lake to further north to where we were yesterday. I say yesterday because I don't think we're there anymore.

"That's a guess. But this is fact: Azkaban appeared a thousand years ago, when a herd of Dementors was driven off of Avalon by the Aurors. Everyone thought that the island had been discovered by the Aurors and that it was the original home of all Dementors. But that's _not _fact. The second theory might be correct, but I think the first one is wrong. Rowena Ravenclaw hinted at it in _On Avalon_." She brandished the book for everyone to see. "I think Azkaban was _created._ I think the Isle of Darkness split off from the Isle of Light."

Somehow, she still had their attention. But Hestia was clearly growing impatient. "What are you getting at, Tonks?"

She glanced at Bill before answering, and he nodded. _He _understood.

"It's happening again. In reverse this time. Azkaban started fading yesterday, and I think the islands merged during the night. Avalon is further north. Azkaban is no more."

Stunned silence.

Finally, Bill spoke up. "I think she's right. I just did a Sounding Spell, and the area beneath us is hollow. Once we find the door, I think we'll discover that Azkaban's prison is back in its original location: here. Underground."

Several long moments passed while others performed their own Sounding Spells—they trusted Bill, but this was the kind of thing everyone had to see for themselves. Meanwhile, Tonks sidled her way up next to her former Mentor.

"I didn't think about the prison," she admitted.

"Well, I didn't think about the islands merging, so I figure we're even," he replied with a smile. "Well done."

She blushed. "Thanks." The others were still whispering and casting spells, but that was all right. "What now?"

"Oh, we'll boat out to Azkaban and see that it's not there. We'll also explore the island and see what _is _here, what we've gained. And we'd probably better plot our position here to see if Avalon has moved."

"I bet your dad has something with GPS in it." One of the few Muggle hobbies Ted Tonks had refused to give up was boating, and his daughter had gone fishing with him from an early age.

"With what?"

"Global Positioning System. It's an electronic mapping system. Sort of."

"Ah. Well, I bet Dad does have one, whatever it is." Bill chuckled. "Even if he doesn't know how to operate the thing."

Tonks laughed. "Sure beats hunting Dementors."

"That it does."

-------------

"That was extraordinary."

Frank had never seen anything like it. The Death Eaters hadn't even made it past the walls—hadn't really _reached _the walls at all. Layer upon layer of defenses had decimated Voldemort's meager numbers, and the Dark Lord himself had only lingered for a few moments before vanishing. Frank didn't think any of the Death Eaters had actually died (though he was certain that almost all of them had nasty burns of one sort or another), but they had retreated in record time.

"What _was _that?" he asked when Bishop remained silent.

"The ancient Muggles called it Greek Fire, though it was actually developed by a wizard. I used his ancient recipe and employed the Liquid Fire Ward."

"I've never heard of that."

Bishop smiled thinly. "That would probably be because the spell was outlawed several centuries ago."

"I see." A chill ran down Frank's spine. He really didn't want to ask—he was beginning to fear the answer—but he needed to know. Sirius needed to know. "Why did Voldemort leave so quickly? Was it because of you?"

"I daresay it was." The cool facial expression did not change, but something in his eyes seemed to twinkle. "Tom has a large enough fight on his hands without adding me to it. I suspect he chose discretion and retreated."

"So he knows you."

"Oh, yes. He knows me." Bishop turned to face Frank fully, and there was something _new _in his eyes that made the Auror shiver. "Take great care in what you ask next, Frank. You may not want to know the answers."

He had to swallow. Hard.

_Is discretion really the better part of valor? _Still, there was one thing he _had _to ask:

"Does Sirius know?" Frank wasn't sure what Sirius was supposed to know, but he was sure that it was important.

"He does."

"I'm…glad to hear that." And Frank knew that he should stop there. That he should just shut his mouth and accept the mystery for what it was.

But he had to know.

"If you're powerful enough to threaten him, why are you here?" _And where have you been?_

"I am here," Bishop answered, "as a favor to an old, dear friend." Suddenly, his eyes twinkled again, and the frightening edge vanished. "Also, I never pass up the opportunity to twist Tom Riddle's tail. Just for fun."

-------------

In a clichéd mystery novel, Remus supposed that the letter would have been delivered by an elegant black owl. Fortunately or unfortunately, life was not a bad novel (though Remus sometimes felt that he was stuck in one) and the owl that showed up in his office was depressingly normal. She was not quite ugly, and not quite pretty…she was just normal.

The letter wasn't.

_I must disappear. May I request sanctuary?_

No signature. No postscript. No explanation. But Remus knew the handwriting well, and he put quill to parchment without pausing to think about his reply.

_Help will always be offered at Hogwarts to those who need it—R._

He sent the owl away without addressing the letter. She knew where to go. Finally, the headmaster glanced over his shoulder to look at the portrait behind his desk.

"You were right. He had choices to make…and he made them."

Dumbledore's portrait smiled sadly. "Yes, I was right. Right that he would make his choices, but not about which path he chose. Severus has always been a complicated and lonely young man…but he has grown in ways even I did not foresee. _You_ were right about him, Remus."

Now it was his turn to smile sadly. Remus was not in the habit of conversing with Dumbledore's portrait—he'd been too much in the habit of turning to the real Albus for advice in his early days as headmaster, back when Dumbledore had been alive and Minister of Magic. But he and the portrait had spoken of Severus often in the last few months as Remus worried about the enemy turned ally who was now his friend. He knew Snape well enough to know how hard it would be for him to turn his back on Voldemort for a second time—but if he was on the run, Severus had done it.

And Hogwarts, as always, would be there for those who needed help.

Remus rose, nodding to Dumbledore with a smile and heading for the door. Albus Dumbledore had not been the first headmaster to make Hogwarts a sanctuary, and Remus Lupin would not be the last. Hogwarts had a long history of protecting those in need, of shielding those who others would harm. Only to protect others did Hogwarts become involved in any war, but protect them she did. Just as Remus would protect Severus Snape.

_No matter what may come._

And it was almost time to find out what the ending would bring—a fact Remus knew without the benefit of visions. He simply felt it, knew it deep in his soul. Not too many more days would pass before the final choices were made, before the beginning of the end arrived.

"Headmaster!" Professor Plumpton almost collided with Remus as the latter stepped out of his office; only a quick sidestep saved Remus from being smooshed into the wall by Plumpton's greater bulk. The Head of Slytherin House was panting. "I was just coming to see you."

"I can see that." He had to fight back a sudden urge to smile at Plumpton's discomfiture. Plumpton was always frazzled by his students; he was quite possibly the worst head of house Remus could imagine employing. _Then again, I could always have hired Gilderoy Lockheart._ That thought forced him to suppress a very un-headmaster-like giggle.

"The students are rioting!" Plumpton gasped. "The Great Hall has been overrun and even the House Elves are joining in—"

Remus pushed past the Arithmancy Professor and hurried for the Great Hall, ignoring most of Plumpton's blabbering along the way. He caught snatches of words, such as "Weasley twins," "Ravenclaw colors," "Slytherins," and "dignity," but Remus already had a fair idea of what he would find when he arrived.

He was almost right. Remus _had_ expected a prank war. He'd been a Marauder, after all. What he got was the food fight of the century.

Food was _everywhere._ Chairs, tables, house banners (Ravenclaw's had collapsed under the weight of so much gravy, which was probably what Plumpton had been on about), the floor and even the head table were covered in food. House Elves danced in and out of the chaos with barely restrained smiles, gleefully delivering new desserts for the children to eat (as no sweets seemed to be used as weapons). The few professors in the hall were well out of the way, though Sinistra and Vector seemed to be fighting the urge to join in.

Remus stopped in the doorway. Plumpton, not paying enough attention (or perhaps too busy gawking at the disaster) ran right into his back. The headmaster laughed before he could apologize.

"Well, this isn't so bad."

"Isn't so—_what?_" Remus thought Plumpton would choke on the words.

"From what you said earlier, I expected a full scale war. This is a mêlée, at worst. Possibly only a skirmish."

Plumpton gaped.

Remus shrugged and gestured the other teachers closer. Clearly, they'd been waiting for guidance, and had sent Plumpton along just to see what kind of reaction he could pry out of Remus. Still, most looked a little frazzled, and all seemed a bit overwhelmed. But none of them were nearly so worked up about this as the hyper-obsessive Plumpton.

"My suggestion is to allow the food fight to wind itself down." Plumpton opened his mouth to argue, but Remus held up a hand to silence him. "This is a good sign, Professors. Spirits are high. It is good that the children should be naughty from time to time—to have fun instead of feeling fear."

Remus turned and started to walk away without looking back. "Call me if it doesn't stop within an hour or two."

The others could not see his face, so it was safe to smile now. Clearly, one particular Misfit had acquired the details on the Multi-House Food War out of his Marauder of a father and had put them to good use. From what little Remus could see, the new generation had thrown in a few twists of their own, but the concept was still the same. _And it is nice to know that, no matter how often we have to fight, some things never change._

-------------

Casa Serpente was eerily quiet after they returned from Nurmengard Prison. The Dark Lord had again closeted himself in his study, doing magic the Death Eaters could hardly begin to identify. Only Bellatrix Lestrange had dared to seek him out, to ask respectively if he intended to meet Sirius Black at all…and she had paid the price. Her screams had been audible outside of even Casa Serpente's outer walls, making the other Death Eaters scramble to be as far away from the Dark Lord as humanly possible.

Anyone who had somehow managed to miss the previous signs now knew that things had gone horribly downhill. Not a single Death Eater could recall _Bellatrix_ as the target upon which the Dark Lord vented his fury. She had always been his favorite. His pet. Never before had he harmed _her_.

Still, he did not emerge. Bellatrix dragged herself out some hours later, but the Dark Lord remained in his study. Alone.

Bellatrix tried to tell the others—angrily—that he was preparing for the inevitable victory over Sirius Black, but everyone had doubts. Why did the formerly omnipotent Dark Lord need days to prepare to meet a mere Auror, especially when that Auror was prancing about in public without a care in the world?

The only possible explanation was that he was afraid. Afraid like he had been at Nurmengard Prison, where he had run away.

Fear was contagious.

Their numbers had dwindled. The end was coming, and now each Death Eater was forced to consider where they would go at the end, what their futures might hold. If they would leave or if they would die. And the last question began circulating in a whisper. _Did they even _want _to fight?_

-------------

It was the first headline in over twenty years to actually use the Dark Lord's name. The _Daily Prophet _had long since formulated policy that _none _of their reporters were to use that dreaded word—it was just too dangerous. But May 19, 1993 was a turning point. Victory was coming.

**VOLDEMORT RUNS**

Early yesterday morning, Death Eaters attacked the well-known

Wizarding prison of Nurmengard, formerly created by Gellert

Grindelwald and later enhanced to hold that previous Dark Lord.

Attacked and half-destroyed by Voldemort in 1987, Nurmengard

Prison was recently reopened to house the many Death Eaters

awaiting trial by the Tribunal.

It was almost a given that Voldemort would attack the prison.

However, it was not so much a given that he would flee without

so much as cracking the prison's defenses.

And where has he gone? No one knows, though it is certain that

he is hiding once more. Sirius Black's challenge hangs in the air,

still awaiting a response.

The current answer? Voldemort hides.

-------------

That midnight was the best time to unveil the painting was a given, though it felt strange to sneak around the castle at night after so many years. However, doing so was extremely liberating, not to mention delightfully _naughty _feeling. After all, who expected the Minister of Magic, two senior Ministers, and Hogwarts' headmaster to creep through the corridors in the middle of the night, avoiding Filch as if they were still students? James smiled to himself as they crossed the Great Hall. It was nice to feel mischievous again. He'd been well-behaved for far too long.

"It's bigger than I expected." Peter's whisper sounded impossibly loud in the empty hall.

"Yeah," James breathed, taking in the giant frame. The painting itself was still covered by cloth, waiting for this moment.

"Are you ready?"

At James' right, Sirius shot Remus a teasing glance. "Why do you sound so excited? I bet you've seen it already."

"Actually, I haven't."

"Not even a peek?" Peter asked.

Remus smiled. "Not even a peek. This is our moment. Together."

_That it is._ "I think you should do the honors, Moony." James turned to face Remus. "After all, this was your idea."

"No. Let's do it together." Moony smiled. "All at once."

"Not to be the kid in the candy shop here, or to ruin the touching moment, but let's unveil the damn thing," Sirius interrupted with a grin.

"You are such a child, Padfoot." Peter rolled his eyes, but Sirius' grin grew wicked.

"But I _want _to _see _the _painting,_" he whined. James winced.

"Let's do this before he gives me a headache."

"By all means," the headmaster replied dryly.

Each Marauder grasped the cloth's bottom edge, exchanging excited grins. It was about time. Too many times they had met to plan battles or to discuss dangers. This moment was for Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs.

"Now." Sirius spoke softly, but they all tore the cloth down with gusto, revealing four smiling faces. Familiar faces—but not. Each looked a little younger than they really were, a bit less worn down by years of warfare. They were happy together, inseparable. They were the Marauders that each wanted to be—idealized. Perfect. The gold plate under the painting proclaimed it all:

_**Messers.**_ _**MOONY, WORMTAIL, PADFOOT, and PRONGS.**_

Each Marauder, of course, had his own smaller nameplate—Circee had insisted on it so that future generations might know who they were once recognition faded. But it was the gold plaque that mattered most. James grinned. The plaque and the four young men pointing and laughing at their older counterparts—_those _were what mattered.

The Marauders turned away together, exchanging smiles. No words had to be said; they all knew. The painting was perfect. Comfortable silence reigned as they strode out of the Great Hall and towards Remus' office. Together.

"Tomorrow at four?" James asked the others. Everyone glanced at Sirius for approval, and his smile faded slightly.

"Sounds good to me," the Auror confirmed.

"Good." Remus turned to his left. "We'll be there. Won't we, Wormtail?"

"I wouldn't miss it for anything." And Peter's voice did not shake.

"Dinner will be waiting," James promised. The Marauders would eat together and then head out for Casa Serpente. Together.

-----------

Ye Old Other Author's Note: So here we are: the world is beginning to change and the end is beginning to come—but which will it be? We have seen Remus having two _significantly _different visions of the end…'one man walking' and 'four men walking'. So, which do you think it will be?

In other news, stay tuned for PD44: "One Choice", where that first step towards the end comes! And please do let me know what you think in the meantime.


	45. Chapter 44: One Choice

**Promises Defended **

* * *

_Chapter Forty-Four: One Choice_

* * *

It was Julia who had provided the answer. While she'd never allowed Lily to remove her Dark Mark, Julia had willingly joined her in researching the Mark and had identified several interesting properties that only Sirius' Mark seemed to have. She and Lily puzzled over the information for weeks, but the differences only added up in one direction. In the end, the difference was, as always, that Sirius had fought back. Thus the link was born. 

In the beginning, Sirius had believed that the link had been created by the failed Distance Seeing Enchantment. Now he understood that the connection was partially _why _the Distance Seeing Enchantment had never worked. He'd fought that, too, of course, and had probably transmitted his battle _into _Voldemort via their link, causing the Distance Seeing Enchantment to collapse. Regardless of the reason, however, Julia had pointed out that everything came back to two things: the Dark Mark and that Sirius had always fought back.

And that was the answer.

----------

"Hello, Remus."

How he had slipped all the way up to the Headmaster's office without being noticed, Remus did not know. Nor was he going to ask—the Font affected everyone differently, and Severus had always been mysterious.

"Severus." Remus immediately came around the desk to clasp hands with his former deputy. "It is good to see you again."

"Likewise." His eyes were dark; Severus looked tired. "Thank you for letting me come."

"Of course. You are always welcome here." Remus softened his tone. "Hogwarts is your home."

Something changed on Severus' face; Remus could not exactly say that the shadow lifted, but the dark eyes lightened a little. The tension eased just a bit. His voice came out in a whisper: "Thank you."

"Your old quarters are still available." Borage would never stay in the dungeons; he had rooms near the other professors. "I would ask you to remain hidden until tomorrow, though…" _Deep breath_. "Everything should end tonight, one way or another."

"Tonight?" Expressionless eyes studied Remus as he nodded. "I am…glad to hear that. And I wish the four of you luck."

"Thank you." His heart hammered in his chest for several long moments before he could stop it. Part of Remus could not believe that _he_ was doing this, that simple Remus John Lupin would help face down the Dark Lord tonight. How had the world come to this? _Breathe. _He would stand by his friends, now and forever. "I'll pass that along."

"I am certain you will." Severus smiled slightly.

"When this is over, will you stay?" Remus asked suddenly, almost surprising himself. "Things at Hogwarts aren't quite the same without you."

"I…I will think about it," was the slow reply, but Remus could see that Severus was touched by the request. Dumbledore had been right; Severus had always been lonely. And Hogwarts was his home.

----------

_**3:05 pm, 20 May 1993. Number 13, Grimmauld Place. London.**_

"This is it."

Julia glanced at the clock. "I thought you had to be at James' at four?"

Sirius shrugged. "I'd like to get there early."

"An hour early?"

He shrugged again, and she had to smile through her worry.

"You're impatient."

"Me? Never." And Sirius was nervous, too, but Julia wasn't going to mention that. Instead, she rose and wrapped her arms around him. They held onto one another for several long moments before speaking.

"Be careful, all right?" Julia whispered.

"I will." Sirius pulled back a little bit, kissing her lightly. "I'm motivated, remember? I'm coming back to marry you."

She had to smile, just a little. But letting go was far harder the second time around. Julia sucked in a deep breath, struggling to keep her voice from cracking. "Good thing I know that James, Peter, and Remus won't let you do anything stupid."

"Unfortunately." His smile fell a bit flat, and the laugh was forced.

Knowing that the others were going did make Julia feel better, though. _They'll look out for him, and they'll bring him home. _She loved Sirius, trusted Sirius, but she knew that he was a far better and wiser man when his friends were present.

"Behave yourself," she admonished playfully. Julia was proud of herself. Her voice did not shake.

"I've got to go." His voice didn't shake, either. She could see Sirius' eyes focusing, could feel him shifting into the man he was in battle. He was ready.

"I love you," she whispered.

"I love you, too." With an obvious effort, Sirius released Julia and stepped back. She held his hand for one moment longer, squeezing hard and then moving away.

Julia watched him walk towards the door, his stride growing more confident with every step. After this many years, she recognized the body language. A decision had been made. Sirius was ready.

----------

_**3:18 pm, The Potters' House. Godric's Hollow.**_

A similar farewell had just taken place in the Potters' home, leaving James to fret alone. Lily had gone back to the Ministry, where she would wait with Arthur and notify the Aurors of the outcome—but James missed her already. He was no stranger to pre-mission jitters (as a rookie Auror, James had puked his guts out before every mission), but he hated waiting by himself. He had at least a half an hour before the others showed up, and nothing to do during that time. He'd been too efficient. Dinner was waiting, and James was pacing.

Forty minutes until they met and pretended to enjoy dinner.

Then they would go out and make history.

----------

_**3:38 pm, Nurmengard Prison.**_

The old man smiled to himself and slid a piece across the chessboard. No one had told him that anything was going to happen, but he'd long been able to recognize shifts in power. This wasn't the game he'd once played—oh, no, that one was gone—but he could still see the signs. Events were in motion. Everything was going to change.

"Check."

----------

_**3:43 pm, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.**_

Sirius stepped out of the secret passageway, his eyes scanning his surroundings. Remus was obsessively at least fifteen minutes early for anything, which meant he'd surely left for James' already. Sirius was in the clear. He didn't have much time, but it was enough. Anyone who saw him and tried to tell the others would not make it there in time to stop him.

_Assuming that you don't want to be stopped._

A cold lump formed in his throat.

_Assuming that this is the right thing to do._

He didn't even know why he'd come to Hogwarts first. Sirius did know that he shouldn't have bothered—but somehow, it was fitting that he'd leave from Hogwarts, where everything had started. Where he'd met the friends he would do anything to protect. _Even leaving them behind, despite all promises to the contrary._

Sucking in a deep breath, Sirius banished his doubts. His guilt. He knew what he was doing. Promises made, promises broken. Such was the way of the world.

The map of Casa Serpente crinkled slightly as he moved, a continual reminder that _this was it._ Tucked safely away in an interior pocket in the front of his robes, the map was his passport—Remus had realized that. Like many older maps, it was able to project its location outwards, allowing wizards to Apparate directly to places they had never seen before. Such maps had been common back when the worldwide magical community had been smaller and people more prone to staying at home; potential visitors were sent maps so that they'd not splinch themselves trying to reach their destination. Even in the last few centuries, maps like this were used to reveal concealed locations to visitors as well. Strangely enough, even a Fidelius Charm could be defeated by such a map.

_I'm glad Voldemort didn't get a hold of one of these for the house at Godric's Hollow…oh, six years ago. That might have been bad. _He smiled bloodlessly. Forced the line of thought aside. No time for regrets.

His feet had carried Sirius to the Great Hall of their own volition. To the painting. There weren't many students about—dinner was not for some hours yet, and many children who might have been out on the grounds seemed to be heading in as the wind outside picked up. Thunder had already been rumbling in the distance when Sirius arrived, and it was growing louder by the moment. A small part of his mind noticed the weather and sent a chill down his spine; the rest of him ignored it. _Was it Remus or Dumbledore that mentioned a storm? _Hands deep in his pockets, fighting the urge to rub anxiously at his face. _It hardly matters now._

He was there.

There, staring at four young men, unmarred by age and not yet scarred by war. Four smiling faces that were ready to stand the test of time, who believed they could conquer the world…so long as they were together.

Guilt again. The others expected that they'd be with him for this, that they'd take Voldemort down together. But that was a risk Sirius could not afford to take—if they faced Voldemort together, at least one Marauder would not survive the experience. _Probably more than one._ Voldemort knew Sirius well. Knew that he would not fight nearly so effectively if his friends were in danger. _And I will not let him use my friends against me._

His eyes found the painting again: the ideal Marauders, the happy and content adults the world had never known. Without the war, was this what they would have looked like? Was this Remus better than the one who had grown to fill Dumbledore's place at Hogwarts, who had become less withdrawn and more forceful, no longer the social outcast? Was this Peter, still shy and looking for approval, better than the man who had turned traitor out of fear and then finally conquered that fear for good and for all? And James. This one had never been paralyzed, probably still played professional Quidditch and had never become a world leader. Was that added layer of strength unnecessary?

Then there was Sirius. Sirius, without the years in Azkaban and without the darkness he'd turned loose upon himself and then left behind. This Sirius was still good-humored and irrelevant, irresponsible despite graduating at the top of his class in Auror training. He was immortal, weighed few risks before jumping in. Yet he'd been happy. _This _Sirius had few regrets. He'd lived, he'd laughed, and he'd loved—all recklessly and without pause, moment by moment. Fearless and happy with who he was.

Did he wish for this future that could never be?

"Somehow, I knew that you would come here," a dry voice said from behind him. Sirius spun to face Severus Snape, whom _that _Sirius, the painting's Sirius, had hated with all of the righteous fury a twelve-year-old boy could muster. The Death Eater smiled thinly. "Remus is gone, you realize."

Perhaps he'd grown too old to loathe so vehemently. Sirius just shrugged. "I know."

"You are leaving without them."

Sirius was not surprised that Remus had told Snape of their scheduled dinner and what came after. Remus had also told the others that Snape was back at Hogwarts for good, and Sirius believed him. Severus Snape might have been a lot of things, but he was consistent. Once he gave loyalty, he did not waiver.

He met his old enemy's eyes. "Yes."

"It's odd how that can still surprise me. I had not thought you would…face him alone."

"Did you think I'd hide?"

"No. I didn't." Pale hands slipped inside Snape's black robes. "I did not come to fight with you, Black. I came to give you this."

And he extended an elegant looking key, with serpents inlaid on the silver-edged handle.

The world seemed to stop moving around them; Sirius shivered again, and this time he _felt _it. He did not have to ask about the key; he already knew. And he knew, without a single doubt, what he would do.

Sirius reached out to take it, but Snape did not let go. Black eyes met blue.

"Sometimes, I think about where we have all been," Severus said quietly. "What we have all been.

"When I do, I realize that, in a slightly different world, you might have been me—angry, distant, and obsessed with purity and things that really do not matter at all. You might have been a true Slytherin in every sense of the word. You might have allied with him willingly, instead of resisting for ten years.

"And then I realize that, had I made different choices, I might have been you."

The silence stretched out between them, long and laden with meaning, but no longer uncomfortable. Severus was right. Save for a flip of the coin, Sirius might have been the one standing there with a key to Casa Serpente in hand, struggling to make up for a lifetime of bad choices…for which he would never forgive himself, no matter what the world believed. He might have _been _this man, this forlorn, this burdened, this heartsick. He might have been that lonely.

"We will never be friends, you and I," Severus continued softly. "But I can believe in you… And I do."

It was not an occasion to smile, only to nod. "I will kill him," Sirius promised.

"I know."

----------

_**3:55 pm, Number 13, Grimmauld Place.**_

"_I'd like to get there early," he'd said._ Julia frowned. She'd resisted the urge to ask why because she was fairly certain that there was no answer. Sirius just needed to move, to act, to _do_. It was one of his faults, though she'd had years to get used to that. He'd always been rubbish at sitting still.

"_An hour early?"_ _She'd tried to keep her tone playful, but all he did was shrug. Even to that gentle question, Sirius had no answer. _At the time, she'd thought that was just an example of how nervous he was.

"_You're impatient."_

"_Me? Never."_

For once, his blue eyes had revealed nothing. And as they'd said farewell, as he left…his shoulders had straightened. Something had changed. Relaxed. Focused. He'd made a decision. He'd made a decision at a point at which there should have been no decisions left to be made.

And Julia knew.

----------

_**4:00 pm, the Forbidden Forest.**_

It was time. Sirius knew Hogwarts' Anti-Apparation Wards well, and knew exactly how far he had to go. He'd contemplated leaving via Hogsmeade, but he'd come that way, and Sirius liked variety.

Besides, the walk through the forest had done him good. Had cleared his mind. He was ready.

----------

_**4:02 pm, Godric's Hollow.**_

Peter frowned. "Sirius should be here already—"

_Knock, knock, knock._

James fairly launched himself out of his seat—why, he did not know. Just that he had to get to the door. Fast. A sick and worried feeling was beginning to form in the pit of his stomach. He'd always known as an Auror, and he knew now. _Something isn't right. _Usually, the feeling meant that he'd stumbled into an ambush. What did it signify this time? Had Voldemort figured out their plans and moved first? His right hand found his wand somewhere during that mad dash, and suddenly sweaty fingers gripped it tight.

He threw the door open.

Julia Malfoy stood staring at him with wide gray eyes. Spooked.

"He isn't here, is he?" her voice was soft, heavy with realization.

"No, he's—" James started, then could not finish. He just couldn't.

"Not here yet," Remus finished for him, but did not sound convinced. Peter and Remus were behind James, now, one at either shoulder. He could feel the tension flowing between them, worry bouncing back and forth. Back and forth.

"He left almost an hour ago." She showed no indication of wanting to leave the doorstep. "Said that he wanted to be here early."

"But he didn't…" Peter trailed off. There was no need to say more. Not after all this time.

They knew Sirius too well.

"Just go," Julia said quietly, stepping aside. James was already in motion. "Maybe you can catch him—"

Remus and Peter were right on his heels; within a heartbeat they were through the door, off the porch, and on the front walk. They moved through the gates too fast to catch the rest of what Julia said, but at least they knew where Sirius had gone. Knew it deep in their bones, in a place where logic weighed nothing and feeling meant everything.

_Hogwarts._

"—maybe you can't," she finished in a whisper, but they'd already Apparated away.

----------

_**4:05 pm, Hogwarts.**_

Remus had grabbed Peter and James by the arm in that split second before Apparating, had dragged them along with him just a moment before they could focus on a destination—

All three appeared in front of their painting.

Snape, who had stood there staring at it for several long minutes, turned in mid-stride. He'd finally been walking away.

"He's gone," the former Death Eater said without preamble.

Remus felt sick. All this—for nothing? _He's trying to protect us,_ a small inner voice knew. _Doing the same thing he always has, in the best way he knows how._

"He can't—" James' voice cracked.

"He did." It was Peter, quiet and resigned. "We'll never make it there in time. Even if we knew how."

A moment of painful silence, and then—"I can take you there, but it will be too late." Severus' eyes were sad, too. But somehow, they were also proud. _Alive._

"Too late or not, we have to try," James replied. "We can't _let _him do this—not like this."

"Let's do it, then." Peter was not afraid. Or at least he did not seem so, but Remus was. Oh, he was more afraid for Sirius than anything else, but even more terrified of what they would find—of mistakes and choices made. But there was no way to undo what had already been done—

Air exploded out of him in a gasp even as the other two stepped towards Severus.

"The Time Turner," Remus breathed. "Hermione has a _Time Turner!_"

----------

_**4:03 pm, a few miles Southeast of Kingston-upon-Hull.**_

The storm was closer when Sirius Apparated onto the windswept field. Somehow, though, the thunder rumbling in the background seemed appropriate.

He did not look back, nor at the map. He could see Casa Serpente in the distance. So he set out. Alone.

One man.

Walking.

-----------

Ye Old Other Author's Note: Worth waiting for? I certainly hope so! Life's gotten the better of me recently, but here's the promised chapter. Stay tuned for Chapter 45: "As Such We Remain," in which the final battle begins. Please do review.


	46. Chapter 45: As Such We Remain

**Promises Defended**

* * *

_Chapter Forty-Five: As Such We Remain_

* * *

**_4:08 pm, Hogwarts._**

"Go to my office!" Remus snapped, already in motion. "I'll meet you there."

He did not break stride to see if the others complied. He just _flew, _racing towards the Gryffindor Common Room and praying the Misfits would be there. They had to be there. Dinner was approaching, and their days of detention cleaning the courtyard were over. There was no where else, logically, that Harry and his friends would be.

Remus did not want to think about what would happen if they were _not _there. He must not let _this _history get so far forward that changing it would have dramatic consequences—_Let the battle not start before we can go back. If it is not already underway, we have a chance of changing everything. _If not—well, everyone knew that disastrous things happened to wizards who played with time. World-changing events could not be altered without horrible consequences.

What was it that Dumbledore had said to him the other day about how one choice could change everything?

"Headmaster, what are you doing?" the Fat Lady inquired delicately.

He did not know the password. He often didn't; Ted had forgotten to tell him, and Remus had not thought to ask.

"Let me pass," he panted, semi-out of breath. This was no way to go into a life- and world-altering battle, but it was the only way he had.

"I ought to ask you the password, but as you're the headmaster—"

"Just open the portrait!"

* * *

**_4:06 pm, Southeast of Kingston upon Hull, Approaching Casa Serpente._**

The wind picked up, threw his robes out behind him like a possessed cloak out of olden tales. Sirius was approaching the fortress, now, stride by stride. Alone.

_It is better this way, _he told himself. _I will not endanger my friends._

Even though he would have given anything to have just one more moment with them, just to explain. They deserved better than he'd done to them, but it was the best Sirius had. _I'm sorry._ A silent apology was all he could offer, but he meant it.

He could sense the wards, even from here. From a hundred yards away, power radiated from Casa Serpente.

Yet all was quiet. Too quiet.

A shiver ran down Sirius' spine.

He'd thought that, if his friends accompanied him, at least one Marauder would not be returning from the Dark Lord's fortress. He'd been right, but he'd been wrong. _At least they're with me in spirit. _Sirius took a deep breath. He'd not be coming back. Not like this.

He knew that, now.

* * *

**_4:09 pm, Hogwarts._**

James had found the letter.

Tucked away under the bottom edge of the portrait's frame, it hadn't been there when they unveiled the painting—and he knew that he was meant to see it. And James didn't need the folded note to be addressed, or even sealed. He knew Sirius had left it there, for them.

No need to go to Remus' office, then. James reached for the letter with trembling hands, part of him aware that it _didn't _have to be this way…yet so certain that it did. That nothing would change, no matter what they did. A Time-Turner could only do so much, regardless of what people thought. _Going_ backin time was not the same as turning back time (James had always thought that the device was poorly named), though most of the Wizarding World seemed to forget that major events could not be changed because time worked as much circularly as it did linearly. The ramifications of trying to change were indescribable—but in this case, one word described the situation rather well: disastrous.

_Why, Sirius? Why like _this_? _James wanted to scream. He wanted to cry. He _didn't _want to read the note—but he did, as Peter came close, leaning over James' right shoulder to see better. They stood closely, barely touching, and barely daring to hope.

Not once did it enter either wizard's mind that this might all be part of some cosmic joke. Not this time.

_To My Friends,_

_I couldn't think of a more engaging opening, and I wish I could say that I spent all night puzzling over how to start this letter, but this is a ten minute labor of love. (Sorry, Moony. You never could get me to do my homework any other time than the last minute, hard though you tried.) This time yesterday, I still thought I was going to keep my promise to you._

_I know what you're thinking. Really, I do. And I'm sorry. More than words can express, though I will try—_

_I promised you that we'd go together, and I've broken that promise. I wish I didn't have to, or that it didn't hurt so badly, but I have. And I do. But this is my fight, and we've known that for awhile now._

_I know Voldemort. I know that he'll target the three of you just because you're my friends, because you're the one thing I can't bear to lose. Change the world? You got it. Take on a Dark Lord? I'll even do that on an empty stomach! But risk my friends when don't have to? No. Not in this lifetime. No chance._

_Please don't—In fact, be angry with me. I deserve it. I'll admit that, because you three deserve better than me lying to you. My only defense is that I made the promise in good faith, and I break it in the same. I'd rather die facing him than lose any of you—and face it. I'm ten years out of my time, anyway. I don't really belong here._

_Tell Julia that I'm sorry. That I love her. That I'm an idiot. Anything you like—and Moony, it'd best be you. You're the smart one when it comes to saying the right thing. _

_Speaking of saying the right thing, I'm sorry that this letter isn't more poetic. Or more fitting. Or even dramatic. But I mean every word—_

_James—thank you for being the brother my family wasn't, for convincing your parents to let me (uncontrollable and undisciplined me!) live with you that summer. Thank you for being my partner back when we were just junior Aurors, and for all the scrapes you got me out of. Thank you for letting me be your Secret Keeper, and letting me help you when you needed it most. And don't let this politics stuff go to your head._

_Remus__—thank you for pushing me to be better than I was. For making me think before I acted and opening my eyes to so many things. Before you, I had no idea what it was like to accept others for what they were—oh, I thought I did, but I was wrong. You taught me better, just as you're teaching the kids at Hogwarts. We didn't call you Professor Moony for nothing, did we?_

_Peter—most of all, thank you for making me learn to help people. To protect those who couldn't do it for themselves—that kind of thing came naturally to James, but I had to learn it. And you showed me the way. You also taught me courage, taught me that to overcome fear is the hardest battle of all. Oh, and same to you on the politics thing. When you replace Prongsie as Minister of Magic, don't say I didn't tell you so._

_I've always been bad at writing down words that meant something (all three of you remember my essays!), but here goes: Thank you for being my friends. My brothers. For being the only family that ever really mattered, and for sticking by me until the end._

_Your friend,_

_Sirius Black_

* * *

**_4:10 pm, Hogwarts._**

That was the Headmaster standing in the doorway to the common room. Rather, that was the Headmaster _exploding _through the door and tripping over a book Ron had thrown at Hermione (and missed) just a few seconds before. Remus stumbled, skidded, and then slammed to a halt upon running into the back of a sofa.

"Headmaster, are you—" the Head Girl was a Gryffindor this year, and she'd been reading quietly in the corner, but now she was up and jumping in his direction.

"I'm quite all right, thank you, Miss Clemens." He straightened quickly, and Harry noticed that his eyes were on Hermione. "Miss Granger, if I might have a word, please?"

He'd not even looked at Harry, but the lines of worry around his eyes were standing out more than ever.

"Umm—of course, Headmaster!" she rocketed off of the couch she'd been sharing with Ginny (_trying _to read, as Hermione had pointed out to Ron earlier) and followed him out the Portrait Hole.

The other Misfits exchanged confused looks. Something was up. Harry could feel the chill in his spine.

"What was that about?" George asked, uncharacteristically quiet.

Harry swallowed. "Whatever it is, it can't be good."

* * *

**_4:07 pm, Approaching Casa Serpente._**

He stopped.

Inexplicably.

He stopped.

Sirius had to. Had to just…_think_. To be certain. He'd made his decision, but the enormity of it had just come crashing down on him, hard enough to make breathing difficult, to make his mind want to shut down. For the past year, Sirius Black had defined himself by the choices he made and the promises he kept. Was this worth it? Could he break those promises now, after fighting so hard to keep so many?

_Can I really do this?_

Sirius glanced up at the stormy sky and wished it had an answer. Wished…well, wished for everything.

He didn't want change. He just wanted everything to be all right, and to be assured that he'd see his friends again, before the end. Before…everything.

James had written the poem. Why was it coming to mind now?

_True friendships never really die._

That was true. Their friendship hadn't died, and never would. No matter what stupid things Sirius did.

_And family isn't defined by blood._

Hadn't he proved that?

_It's made strong by bonds that won't break._

Except that he was breaking them. Just now. Not completely, but maybe enough—enough to do damage. Irreparable damage.

_Tempered and tested by trials and pain._

Ten years proved that much.

_What we are is brothers, and as such we remain._

Did they? Could they…after this? No. Not with what he was doing.

_Loyal to one another until the end._

Deep breath. _I am so sorry._

_And no matter what happens between this moment and then._

He meant the words he would never speak to them. Meant them so badly that it hurt.

_I shall be always thankful to have had such friends._

Sirius felt the tears on his face even as the wind whipped them away, but he looked back at the horizon, and started walking.

* * *

**_4:12 pm, Hogwarts._**

"Professor, you know that you can't really change anything in the past with the Time-Turner, don't you?" Hermione asked hurriedly. "I mean, you can change things but what you've done was already done, and time works more in a loop than anything else—I've studied the phenomena a lot since the Minister left me the Time-Turner and it doesn't work the way people think it does—"

"I know, Hermione." It was all Remus could do to keep his voice level. "I don't need to change anything…just to arrive in time to stop something else. Something that hasn't happened yet." He was breathless with worry. "But I need the Time-Turner now. Please."

She frowned at him, poor girl, struggling to do the right thing. She knew that she wasn't supposed to have the Time-Turner at all (per Ministry guidelines, anyway)—yet at the same time, the owner of a Time-Turner could be held responsible for any and all actions taken with the instrument. "I'm not…"

"I understand your worries," he reassured her carefully. "But believe me, I'm not going to do anything illegal with it." _Or at least nothing that the Minister of Magic can't declare is legal after we do it. Or before. Either one works for me._

"But it's _dangerous_, Professor. And—and I'm not supposed to loan it to anyone!" Hermione looked anguished. Heartbroken.

"Would you use the Time-Turner to save a friend's life?" Remus asked quietly. "One of the other Misfits?"

She nodded mutely.

"Then please understand what I'm doing." His tone was urgent, now; his calm was threatening to flee. _Hurry up!_ his mind screamed at him, and Remus struggled to keep his voice level. "If I don't use the Time-Turner, one of my best friends is going to die, and every hope the world has will go down with him."

"Sirius Black?" Hermione gasped, her eyes the size of Bludgers.

"Yes."

And she was gone, rushing to get the Time-Turner out of her trunk before it was too late.

Remus held his breath.

* * *

**_4:15 pm_****_, Nurmengard Prison._**

Grindelwald stared at the board. He'd brought it, his favorite chess set, all the way from London to Switzerland just for this purpose. Frank Longbottom had given him a strange look when "Mr. Bishop" had carefully removed the pieces—too many for just one set—from the velvet-lined box, placing each meticulously on the table as though placing them on squares on a board. Not in their starting positions, either—he was setting up a game in progress.

He'd memorized their positions long ago, because this was the Greater Game. The only game that mattered. It didn't have to be the same pieces (they'd taken those away long ago), and it didn't have to be the same game. The Greater Game always continued; only a fool thought there was ever an _end_. But this day might be the final move—oh, not the final move _forever_, but at least for this generation. Perhaps even the final move the minor red king ever made.

But not just yet. There was more to come.

* * *

**_4:19 pm, Hogwarts._**

Remus had found his office empty, and then had wasted precious minutes running back down to the Great Hall, praying that James and Peter were still there (then again, if they _weren't_, then this was all part of some horribly cruel nightmare and he might wake up in the morning and find everything all right). Breathing hard, he burst through the staff door and flew across to the painting.

They were still there.

Remus had been half-hoping that they wouldn't be, and that he could just live through this nightmare in peace and do it all over again when he woke up on the _real _day. Maybe then things might be different. _No such luck, Moony. This is reality. Nightmares are not so awful._

"I thought you were going to be in my office!" Anger made the question sharp.

"Sorry—" James started as Peter tried to explain.

"We found—" the smallest Marauder was holding up a note of some sort, but Remus waved it away.

"I don't care!" he cut Peter off. "I've got the Time-Turner. If we go back an hour, will that be enough?"

"He left here less than an hour ago, so that'll have to be," James replied quickly; Remus was grateful to know that he wasn't the only one thinking of the consequences.

"And if we go further, we risk changing too much," Peter added. "The last thing we want to do is have to try to unravel any messes we make or create a paradox—"

"Exactly." Normally, Remus was a stickler for letting other people finish a sentence, but he was too impatient. "So, if we go back now, and we go back only an hour…"

"It should be just right," James finished for him. "Sirius won't have left yet, and if we're lucky, he hasn't run into Voldemort yet now—"

"Stop," Peter interjected. "Stop thinking about it and let's do it. _Now._"

He was right. If they were going to beat Sirius, if they were going to prevent his meeting up with Voldemort without them, they had to move. Fast.

Remus pulled out the Time-Turner, shaking the chain out to its full length. It was barely long enough to fit all three of them, but the chain would _just _fit—perhaps it was always just right? Was the chain always long enough?

"It's raining," Peter said quietly, suddenly, making the headmaster look up. He remembered:

_Lightning split the sky, illuminating a face that was not only wet with droplets of rain. Washed out blue eyes never even glanced upwards; one man simply began to walk._

"Do it, Remus," James ordered, and Remus began to turn the dial.

_One choice._

Everything began to change.

* * *

**_3:20 pm, The Great Hall, Hogwarts._**

James, Peter, and Remus stood in the Great Hall as if they'd not moved at all.

"You shouldn't be here," the Remus in the painting pointed out, speaking for the first time. Oddly enough, the Marauder's Portrait had not spoken until then. Perhaps it had been waiting?

"Where'd you come from, anyway?" Portrait-Sirius asked.

"One moment you weren't here—" Portrait-Peter started.

"And the next you were," Portrait-James finished.

James had to crack a smile. "Were we ever this annoying?"

"Worse," Remus and Peter replied together, grinning briefly.

"We'd best get out of sight," the headmaster continued on his own. "It wouldn't do the other me any good to see the three of us standing here—or for Sirius to notice us before we want him to."

"How _are_ we going to handle this?" James wondered as the threesome slipped into the passageway beyond the Staff Door. The Portrait-Marauders pointed and laughed at the trio as they went, not understanding at all. "Are we just going to walk out and tell Sirius that his plan isn't going to work? That we're going with him?"

"I don't think we can," Peter replied quietly. "What if we change something? Something seemingly minor that becomes important and then suddenly _everything _is wrong? We weren't here before when he left, and if we had been, he'd have seen us and so would Severus—who then wouldn't have said he left alone. So, we can't be here. Not now."

James frowned, struggling to follow the twisted logic. Judging by the look on his face, Remus was doing the same and acquiring a headache. The headmaster bit his lip in concentration before speaking slowly. "We have three basic choices. Either we join Sirius, precede him, or follow him. The second is not really viable because we don't know how to get where he's going—Snape could take us to Casa Serpente, but what if we wind up on the north side when Sirius has gone to the south end? We've only got one chance to redo everything, and we can't afford to take a chance like this.

"Following is equally problematic—tracking someone when they Apparate is well-nigh impossible unless you've grabbed a hold of them before they disappear. So…" Remus trailed off, searching the others' faces for answers.

"But it isn't impossible," James replied. "Aurors have been doing it for years. Get me in sight of Sirius before he Apparates, and I can trace him. We can zero in on that trace and go wherever he goes—he'll know that he's being followed, but that doesn't really matter. We'll arrive only seconds after he does."

"And seconds is all the time we want, right?" Peter asked quietly.

"Definitely no longer," Remus agreed, nodding. He sucked in a deep breath; James could see how nervous he was and how well Remus was hiding it—all the action of the past half hour had allowed all three to forget how, well…_frightened_ they were, but now they had time to think. To wait. To wonder.

* * *

**_3:50 pm, The Marauders' Portrait, Hogwarts._**

The note wrinkled slightly as Sirius tucked it under the portrait's bottom edge, whispering a spell to make it stick until one of three people came along to retrieve it. All four Marauders looked at him strangely for doing so, but surprisingly, none of them spoke. Sirius spent a half second wondering if someone had already jinxed the painting to remain silent (Snape, perhaps?), and then let go of the letter.

Forcing his fingers to do so was harder than he'd expected.

So was walking away. Turning his back, Sirius forced himself not to look over his shoulder, to make one foot fall in front of the other and walk away—out of the Great Hall, and through the school. He kept to silent and dark passageways, avoiding students. Most of them were probably holed up in their common rooms as the storm approached, anyway.

He glanced out a window. _It's going to rain. How…appropriate._ Sirius had never been one to attach terrible significance to the weather, but the dreariness surrounding Hogwarts reminded him of how he felt inside.

_It's time. _He sidestepped Filch on his way out of the castle, ignoring the caretaker's shout. Sirius didn't need a lecture about wandering the hallways now, and didn't care what Filch thought. The caretaker followed Sirius for several long moments, but fell back after a bit, allowing Sirius' long strides to open up the space between them. Crossing the grounds seemed to only take moments; before Sirius knew it, the Forbidden Forest opened up before him, waiting.

He checked for his wand and the map as he walked, his strides easy and confident, his breathing steady. For a short moment, he allowed his fingers to touch the Dark Mark on his left forearm, relishing the sudden tinge of pain that raced up his arm. _Remembering._ Once, Sirius had been ashamed to bear this mark, to have the proof that he'd not fought hard enough branded on his soul for all to see. But no longer. Now he knew better.

* * *

**_3:58 pm, The Forbidden Forest._**

They watched him walk, quiet and confident, eyes straight forward and ignoring the rest of the world. The other Marauders knew this Sirius well: the focused and bull-headed Sirius, determined to _act _regardless of the consequences. But he wasn't exactly an observant Sirius, so they followed him easily enough.

Peter watched Sirius touch his left forearm and frowned with worry; not too many months had passed since he'd had his own Dark Mark removed, and he well remembered how awful of a reminder it had been. Why _had _Sirius kept his? The explanation his friend had offered had never satisfied Peter, but he was sure Sirius had his reasons—and he was doubly certain that those reasons would matter today.

A chill ran down Peter's spine as Sirius stopped, glancing at the steel-gray sky in silence. Peter stumbled into James when the ex-Auror halted too quickly for Peter to react, and he sensed Remus almost doing the same. They slipped quietly into a clump of trees, and then James led them just a bit farther forward—right past Hogwarts' Anti-Apparation wards. One of the first thing the Marauders had learned upon turning seventeen was where those wards started and stopped, and there was the purple-looking tree to the right that they'd always used to mark the boundary.

The Forest was strangely quiet, and Peter was struggling not to shake. No matter how hard he'd worked to overcome his fear, it was always there. Always lurking somewhere just beneath the surface where he couldn't forget it.

_But I won't forget my friends, either, and they're far more important to me than being afraid._

* * *

**_4:00 pm, The Forbidden Forest._**

Sirius raised his wand—

James copied him quickly. Peter and Remus each put a hand on his shoulder, ready and waiting.

The map was held loosely in Sirius' left hand, and the ex-Auror could see his friend concentrating. Projecting location from the map into his mind and focusing on his ultimate destination. James knew Sirius so well that he could pinpoint the exact moment before he Apparated, when Sirius blinked one last time and sucked in a slightly deeper breath of air—he did it every time. Aurors called it a telltale, and they studied their partners' and enemies' manically. One never knew when it might matter, after all.

There was the blink—

_"Appexecutus," _James whispered.

And Sirius was gone.

They followed him into nothingness.

* * *

Ye Old Other Author's Note: Here we go! (The grand total, by the way, is 49 chapters and an epilogue, which FFN will call 51 chapters total). Please do review and let me know what you think! Also, stay tuned for Chapter Forty-Six: "To the Ends of the World," in which curses begin to fly and the battle truly begins.


	47. Chapter 46: To The Ends of the World

**Promises Defended **

* * *

Chapter Forty-Six: To The Ends of the World

* * *

**_4:03 pm, Approaching Casa Serpente._**

"You shouldn't be here."

His voice was so quiet that it was almost impossible to hear over the thunder rumbling in the distance. The wind was howling now, blowing harder and harder—and the rain was beginning to fall like heavy rocks, hardly a hundred yards to the north. For a moment, Remus thought it might spread to where the Marauders stood, but it was not supposed to rain yet. _Not quite yet. _He answered when the other two hesitated:

"Neither should you. Weren't we supposed to meet at James right about now?"

Sirius did not respond. Instead, his eyes focused far into the distance, on a point beyond Casa Serpente.

"You promised us that you wouldn't do this alone." Peter's broken whisper was all but lost in the wind.

"Yeah. I did." Angry blue eyes turned on the three Marauders, intense. Burning. "And now I'm breaking that promise. Go home."

"Not going to happen, Padfoot," James replied.

"I have to do this alone. I know what I promised—and I'm sorry." Urgency made Sirius' tone sharp. "But I shouldn't have made that promise, because if you come with me, he's going to target every one of you, and I won't let that happen!"

Remus was the one who shrugged. "He's been doing that for years, Padfoot. Targeting us."

He saw the _snap_ before the cry. Saw something break.

"This is _my _choice! Don't you see that? This isn't your fight!"

"And our choices make us what we are, Sirius," James replied. "We've chosen to be your friend. We choose to stand with you today."

_Vision_.

Remus' lips moved on their own. "Whatever else we may be," he said softly, "we remain unbroken."

"Together." Peter stepped forward and did what neither of the other two had dared, placing a hand on Sirius' shoulder. "Until the end. I know all about breaking promises, Sirius. You don't. So don't start today, of all days."

Remus saw Sirius swallow. Nod. Close his eyes against…tears?

The blue eyes opened. Focused. Decision, as always, came quickly.

Deep breath.

"Let's do it, then."

And they stepped forward as one, _knowing _that they could face anything, defeat anyone, so long as they were together. Everything they were spiraled down to that moment, but they were together.

Four men.

Walking.

* * *

**_4:05 pm, Godric's Hollow._**

Julia closed her eyes, collapsing heavily into the doorframe. James hadn't even closed the door behind himself in their mad rush to follow Sirius—

Breathing was suddenly hard. Almost impossible.

_Please let them get to Sirius in time._

Her body shook briefly, but Julia forced it to stop. She wasn't going to cry. Not now. Not when she'd been strong during his second time in Azkaban, and not when she knew that this had to be done. She understood the risks. Understood the cost. Julia knew the exact number of wizards who had strode off to meet Voldemort face to face (eighteen was the total, all from the first three years of the war, when the most powerful wizards in the world had thought that Voldemort could be taken a la Grindelwald, in a simple duel. They always ignored the fact that even Dumbledore had not tried that, not even once), and she knew what had happened to each and every one.

If he went alone, Sirius would be number nineteen. Julia knew that, too.

So, because she loved him, she did the last thing he'd want her to do. He hadn't told her for a reason, of course, and if any of the other three died…well, Julia didn't quite want to think about how he'd react. She knew he'd never forgive her; he could forgive her becoming a Death Eater, but never if one of his friends was hurt. Yet—what was done was done. She'd made her choice. So had the others.

But Julia knew history, too, and she knew that something like this had only happened once before: four friends going _together _to face down a Dark Lord. That Dark Lord had been named Ahriman, and he'd turned into a mere footnote in the history books after being the scourge of the tenth century. Everyone always forgot Ahriman, though they remembered the names of the four friends who had defeated him. Slytherin. Gryffindor. Ravenclaw. Hufflepuff.

Would history remember Black, Potter, Pettigrew and Lupin that way? Would schoolchildren memorize their names and worship their memories? Julia didn't think so. The names were too common. Rather they remember Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs. Despite herself, she smiled. There was a much better ring to that.

Julia pushed off of the doorframe and straightened. She remembered something else, too. The Founders had lived through defeating Ahriman. _And as Voldemort is such a believer in tradition, there is no reason for history _not _to repeat itself today._

* * *

**_4:06 pm, Approaching Casa Serpente._**

Memory.

_"My vision showed the four of you, standing side by side against a backdrop of a stormy sky. You were alone, but the most important thing was that you stood together. I do not know what or whom you faced, but I do know, in that moment, everything depended upon the four of you—upon your strengths and your weaknesses, but most importantly, upon your friendship. In that moment, you were—"_

Vision.

_Four men. Walking._

Remus stopped in mid-stride, blinking hard. "Do you remember what Dumbledore told us?" he found himself saying. The others stopped, waiting.

Without warning, thunder crashed, rumbling ominously and making the ground tremble slightly. Remus let out a shaky breath as James, Peter, and Sirius stared.

"He said that we were the last line of defense. That everything depended upon the four of us." Lightning flashed again, finally illuminating Casa Serpente in the distance. Remus found that he could stare at nothing else—just the ancient keep on the horizon. His voice was tight; the moment was suddenly real. "He was right. Here we are."

"This is it, then." For the first time, the anger left Sirius' eyes, and his expression was calm. Accepting. "Together."

They started walking again without another word, each step bringing the Marauders closer to Casa Serpente—closer to the end.

* * *

**_4:10 pm, London, the Ministry of Magic._**

"Someone leaked," Lily said quietly, walking into Arthur's office. Her hands were clasping and unclasping over and over again, and her normally vibrant green eyes were washed out with worry.

"Already?" Arthur didn't know if he should feel exhausted or giddy with worry. On one hand, he was glad that the Aurors hadn't drawn this mission—that Bill hadn't—and on the other, Arthur had no desire to become the Minister of Magic by evening.

"Already," Lily confirmed. "There's a crowd gathering outside."

"Rioting?" _Because that's _exactly _what we need right now!_

She shook her head, collapsing into an empty chair. "No. Just…waiting. Quietly."

_Oh. _A long moment passed before he figured out how to reply to that.

"Kind of like us," Arthur replied softly.

"Yeah."

He didn't need to see the crowd to know what they were waiting for. No one needed a formal announcement—everyone knew that this was it. This was the end. Sirius Black had called Voldemort out and was now chasing him down. James Potter, Remus Lupin, and Peter Pettigrew had gone with him. The last two decades all spiraled into this moment, into one question: was the friendship between four men strong enough to defeat the greatest evil their world had ever known?

The one choice had been made

They had one chance, and one chance only.

One end.

* * *

**_4:10 pm, Outside the gates of Casa Serpente._**

The gates were closed, and the courtyard beyond them was eerily empty. Remus stopped Sirius with a light touch to his left arm, wand up and already casting diagnostic spells. Sirius nodded and let him work; a few moments more would not change the world. He felt empty in his calm, settled. Once, Sirius supposed that his stomach would have been rolling, his heart in his throat, but now he was ready. _Perhaps too ready_. He shivered and looked up at Salazar Slytherin's ancient home.

Casa Serpente was not a true castle, or at least not one on a grand scale. Perhaps it had been at one point and had been adapted over the years to fit the changing needs of wizardkind—Sirius did not know. Now, however, there was no moat or heavy gate; the ground outside the walls, though sloped, was dry and the gate made of ornate and polished metalwork. The design on the great lock matched the key in his pocket: a silver serpent with green eyes and a bright red tongue.

Sirius' right hand slipped inside his robes to brush against the key, and a shiver ran down his spine. This was the place. Here was the time.

"All of the wards are keyed to the lock," Remus whispered. Was he afraid someone might hear his voice and be warned of their presence? Sirius fought back a smile. The stealth game would be over the moment he opened the gate, anyhow. There was no need to hide.

"Good." The key was out, in his hand. Sirius took one last deep breath and closed his eyes. His heart _was _pounding a little bit.

_Time._

"Are you ready?" James asked quietly.

Sirius' eyes opened. "Yes." Heartbeat. "Are you?"

He could sense the other three exchanging looks. A long moment passed; it was Peter who finally nodded.

"No reason to wait," the former Death Eater said. He stepped behind Sirius, as did the other two, with Peter in the middle, James on Sirius' right, and Remus on his left.

"Stay close," Sirius ordered as the key came up. If they were going to do this, they were going to do it together.

"Right behind you,' James assured him.

Silver clicked softly against silver. The key turned easily, aligning the four serpents into one unbroken circle.

Sirius had to smile at the thought. The symbolism was wrong, but the message rang true. It always had, and would so long as there was life in him. Sirius had made many hard choices in his life, but this one was easy. Four friends, _unbroken_.

He turned the key.

Silence. Stillness. Nothing. If there was a trap, Voldemort was waiting to spring it. Even the thunder fell silent for several long moments, though the wind picked up a little more as Sirius waited, billowing his robes around him like rogue waves on the sea.

"The wards are down," Remus breathed.

Sirius nodded sharply, his senses tingling and alert. "Time to move."

He matched actions to words, striding forward into Casa Serpente's courtyard with his three best friends at his back. He left the key behind in the lock; even if someone didn't steal it, there would be no going back. Not this time.

* * *

**_4:12 pm, the Ministry of Magic._**

This day would change everything.

Slowly at first and then as fast as word could be passed, the news tore around the Wizarding World. The crowd outside the Ministry grew larger and larger—still civil, hopeful, and quiet, but gigantic. Everyone knew that the Marauders (somehow, the schoolboy nickname was no longer a secret) were facing Voldemort. Everyone knew that this was it.

Today was the day upon which good or evil would triumph. The age-old battle would not end forever, of course—such wars never did—but thousands of lives would change this day. For better or for worse, the world's hopes were pinned on the four rebellious boys who had become four very different men, yet still stood together.

Bill had joined his father at the Ministry, hands stuffed deep in his pockets and watching the still-growing crowd.

"Do you think they can do it?" Arthur asked quietly.

"I think Sirius can, with their help," the Auror replied, also in an undertone. "I don't know Remus or Peter as well as the other two, but I know that the four of them are very different together. They're…stronger. Tougher. Maybe even special. I don't think Voldemort can beat them."

"And if he does?" His father wondered in a tight voice.

"Then we start scrambling for resources and act as fast as we can," Bill replied, struggling to think only of the tactical reality and not of what such a defeat might bring. "There won't be time to waste if the worst happens."

"I spoke to Lily. If they lose, she'll go to Hogwarts and pull the kids out, your brothers and sister included. She'll meet with your Mum and they'll keep them safe."

"I'm glad." The words tried to stick in his throat, but Bill forced them out. The war had changed everyone, but he wondered if his carefree, curious, and loving father wasn't one of those who'd been harmed the most. Arthur Weasley had grown cautious, hard, and calculated. This wasn't the father Bill had grown up with.

Then again, these days, he was hardly the boy his parents had raised, either. None of them were.

* * *

**_4:12 pm, Casa Serpente._**

The Death Eaters appeared one by one in the courtyard. Apparating in from some other location, the sixteen dark wizards formed a line between Voldemort and the Marauders, wands out and ready. Sirius stopped, and the other three stepped up next to him.

"Are you brave enough to come out and face me?" he called.

High pitched laughter floated back to him, hard to hear as thunder crashed in the sky.

"I shall let you work for your final battle, Sirius Black," the Dark Lord replied. "As I will let you choose one of your friends—which one would you like to see survive?"

Death Eaters snickered, laughed openly. Sirius could feel his friends, calm and steady, to his right and his left.

"It's all or nothing, Voldemort," he shot back.

The Dark Lord's smile was sly. His voice was low, almost lost in the wind. "Remember those words, Sirius."

Barely a split second to think. Lightning flashed, illuminating Voldemort's pale face, and his features seemed tight. Was he not as confident as he wanted to sound?

_"Formidilosus!"_

_"Protego!" _Four voices as one. No hesitation. Brilliant light bounced back off of their combined shield, dissipating into the storm.

The Marauders moved together, Sirius again in the lead. The others dropped back to form a diamond with him at the tip and Peter at the bottom, wands up and challenging the Death Eaters to bring the battle to them. James, Peter and Remus handled the shielding. Voldemort still had not moved.

Sirius dug deep, sinking into power and letting it surround him. He had spent months crafting himself into the perfect weapon to take down the Dark Lord, and now was the time to find out if the sacrifices were worth it. _Time to earn your pay, Sirius!_

_"Conteriaco!"_

His spell arched out at the Death Eaters, striking and splitting them apart like a giant ship's bow forcing the sea aside. Suddenly, there was a gap in the Death Eaters' line over twenty feet wide, and the Marauders strode through it. Sirius cleared the shattered line, ignoring the Death Eaters lying on the ground, strewn about like abandoned children's toys. Another three strides, and he dropped into his dueling crouch.

_"Everbero!" _There was no use waiting.

A few feet behind Sirius, James, Peter, and Remus spun around to face the recovering Death Eaters. Three against fifteen, they would defend Sirius while he faced the Dark Lord. The odds were against the Marauders, of course, but that was nothing new.

Sirius' spell ground to a halt less than fifteen feet away from Voldemort. Simply stopped. Disappeared.

Voldemort had not thrown up a shield. Sirius would have seen that.

_"Roteventilo!" _He fired off another immediately.

Nothing.

Frustration boiled over. _"Avada Kedavra!"_

That, too, sizzled to a stop. It was impossible, but something had just blocked the Killing Curse.

Voldemort started to laugh.

* * *

**_4:20pm_****_, Number 12, Grimmauld Place._**

Julia had intended to wait quietly at Grimmauld Place—at _home_—and be there when Sirius returned. And she would be there, but the quiet part was proving hard. Patience was growing painful. No amount of studying (always fascinating), cleaning (usually therapeutic), or pacing (at least a decent waste of time) could distract her. She was sitting at home, waiting for the man she loved to finish risking his life yet again.

She was ready to go insane.

So she turned on the wireless and listened to reporters go on and on about the crowd gathered outside the Ministry of Magic. Julia curled up in a chair and pulled her knees up to her chest, her eyes staring blankly at a painting on the far wall. Its subject ignored her politely, for which she was glad.

And she waited.

* * *

**_4:25 pm, Casa Serpente._**

Sirius was twisting and ducking and sliding away from what he could, but spells were getting through. He was constrained to the small semi-circle behind his friends (lest the still-fighting Death Eaters take potshots at his back), and was struggling to make sure that nothing from his side hit _them._ Still laughing, Voldemort fired spells at him with immunity, and not a thing Sirius threw back got through. As near as he could tell, there was a fifteen foot bubble around Voldemort, surrounding the Dark Lord on all sides—Sirius had already tried bouncing spells off of the surrounding walls (and even off of other spells) to attack from odd angles.

"Tiring yet, Sirius?" the Dark Lord mocked him.

"Actually, this is a great exercise!" he shouted back. "I ought to teach it to the kids on Avalon and use it for practice! _Cadovallum__!_"

Nothing. Not even a flash of light. The power from Sirius' spells seemed to be feeing Voldemort's bubble, but what else could he do? He had to find a way to get through.

Blue tendrils raced out at him, sparking and twisting barbed wire reaching out to ensnare him..

_"Evanescorpus!"_ They blasted into nothingness, a nice parallel to everything else Sirius tried. _"Alohomora!"_

He tried the unlocking spell on the off chance that it might open the bubble up, but the Dark Lord answered that with a quick:

_"Crucio!"_ and Sirius had to let it hit whilst he fought the Unforgivable aside, muscles and tendons quaking, lest the Torture Curse get through to his friends.

_"Resiacio!" _Free of the racking pain, Sirius sent a large section of wall sailing into the bubble, but that disintegrated, too, and Voldemort hit him with another Cruciatus Curse, dropping Sirius to one knee while his vision spun wildly with agony. Frustrated and reeling, he responded in kind through the pain, but Voldemort's shields didn't even waver and Sirius had to throw himself sideways twice—right and then left—before he could break the curse's lock on him.

He leapt upright again, aiming a Splitting Curse at the bottom front edge of Voldemort's bubble.

Nothing.

_"Imperio!"_ Voldemort's smile almost made the curse into a seductive whisper—for a moment, Sirius was tempted to take the bait, to let the curse hit him, and to engage in a battle of wills that probably _could _break Voldemort's shield bubble.

But, no. If Voldemort was inviting Sirius to that battle, he thought he could win. Sirius wasn't there to play his game.

_"Econtra Imperi." _He shouldered the curse aside just before it hit, and then aimed a jet of green magic far to Voldemort's right, bouncing it off of a high section of wall and then at the bubble, again trying for an angle that might actually penetrate. Still nothing.

Sirius jerked his wand left and the light show continued, sending power beating into the shields without casting an actual spell. Most shields functioned at one level or another—but these absorbed both structured and raw power. Even the magical flames Sirius sent pouring out of the tip of his wand evaporated at the bubble's edge. Voldemort was not even singed.

Suddenly, yellow waves of power slammed into Sirius, knocking him stumbling and falling back into Peter—Wormtail yelped and collapsed under him.

"Watch the center, Remus!" James' voice. Somehow, Sirius had managed to tune his friends' battle out, push it to the edge of his consciousness.

He was on his feet without thinking, aching and ignoring it. Fiery pain shot up from somewhere near the base of his skull, making the courtyard spin—

Voldemort's confident voice: _"Avada Kedavra!"_

"Watch out!" Peter dragged Sirius back to the ground; the Auror saw stars as his head smacked dirt.

Instinct: Sirius' wand shot up blindly. _"Repellum!"_

Red light of some sort disintegrated inches away from James' left arm. The Minister flashed him a tight smile.

"Thanks, mate. _Avada__ Kedavra!"_ He missed Bellatrix by inches; she cackled.

"_Everbero__!_ Harper is down," Remus put in as Sirius hauled himself and Peter upright.

"I didn't do that," James objected.

Sirius' shield ate another red curse from Voldemort.

"The Killing Curse got him when Peter knocked Sirius down," Remus explained.

"Ah."

There was no time for more. Bellatrix sent a trio of curses sailing in on James as Sirius strode back to the point of the diamond, spinning head and all. Peter resumed his position and Sirius dropped into his crouch, firing off the largest wave of sheer power that he could create—only to have that bounce away into nothingness.

But it _bounced._ His strained growl broke off into a surprised hiss.

_Is that it? Can I power my way through?_

_"Obfirmum!" _from Voldemort. It killed the last of Sirius' most powerful shield, but the Auror ignored it.

Taking a deep breath, Sirius drew to him all of the power and all of the fury he could muster. All of the years in Azkaban and in pain, all of the strength he gained from his friends. All that drove him, all that he was, powered out, focused on the impenetrable bubble Voldemort sheltered inside.

He _felt _the power strike, and the ground shuddered as Voldemort's shields struggled to keep up with the strain. Shards of rock began to crumble out of the walls, bits of mortar _tink__, tink, tinking _off of the courtyard floor.

"Earthquake?" Remus shouted over his shoulder.

Sirius laughed aloud.

"Not quite!"

_Everything I am boils down to this moment. And I will not fail._

Deep breath. Dodge left as power zeroed in, missing the back of Peter's head by less than an inch. Another deep breath, and Sirius gathered himself again.

_Now!_

This was magic beyond spell casting, power he'd learned from Grindelwald and Voldemort both, from exploring himself and digging deep into his soul. This was magic from before codified wizardry, and Sirius had never, not once, shown Voldemort that he knew such power existed. Not until now.

The wave of power was almost silver in color, and rolled across the courtyard, crashing into the bubble.

Artificial thunder roared; as the ground shook, Sirius knew the sound did not come from the storm. A minor rockslide started on the far right wall, stones shaking their way off of the top of the ancient wall and bouncing a dozen feet to the ground below. But even as the wall began to break down, the bubble held.

The retaliation curse did not come. Instead, the expression on Voldemort's face started to change, his smile vanishing and eyes narrowing. _He knows._ A chill tore down Sirius' spine.

_I've got one more chance before he—_

The thought matched his magic. Sirius' third wave of power roared out, still silver in color but dark enough to almost match the steely sky. It rushed in on Voldemort's shields—

Wet and sticky liquid splashed Sirius in the face, dripping into his nose and into his mouth.

Blood.

Sirius' world went red even as the wave of power struck against the shield.

* * *

**_4:40 pm, Heathrow International Airport._**

The most humiliating thing she had ever done—even worse than watching her _sister _marry a Mudblood—was impersonating a Muggle and forcing her son to do the same. Never, _ever_, something she had expected to do, Narcissa found herself dressed in an uncomfortable Muggle shirt and slacks, feeling naked without a good set of robes. The "suit coat" she was wearing hid her wand well enough, but the sleeves were restrictive to the point of madness and she felt like a cheap actress.

A quick glance down (though not too far down—when _had_ he grown so tall?) showed that Draco was equally miserable. The crowd pressed them tightly together, and neither Malfoy dared make a scene since all of the Muggles seemed to accept this as normal. They were desperately nervous and struggling to look like they belonged, but Narcissa was fairly certain that she was lost and had no idea how to read the various "monitors" the Muggles seemed fascinated by.

"This way, Mum." Draco tugged gently on her arm, threading left through the crowd.

"Are you certain?" she asked in an undertone. Narcissa's eyes darted right and then left, knowing that there had to be a threat somewhere. Everywhere. They were alone and they were lost—and she didn't know what to do next.

_I must keep Draco safe. All else fades in comparison to that._

Deep breath.

"The sign says that Gate Eighty-Seven is this way," her son replied.

Narcissa hadn't noticed. "So it is," she managed.

Draco shot her an uneasy smile, and her heart skipped a painful beat. He was so much his father's son.

They had been on the run for days, never having returned to Malfoy Manor after Narcissa pulled Draco out of Hogwarts. They went underground immediately, staying at the Dry Park (a semi-Wizarding lodge near Glasgow) under assumed names. Narcissa had spelled her hair into a mousy brown that reminded her of Andromeda and darkened Draco's to match, and she made sure that they kept quiet. Still, a face she'd seen out the window just yesterday looked _exactly _like one of the disguises Bellatrix had been using since joining Voldemort, and the Malfoys had bolted.

Hence the Muggle disguises she and Draco wore in the midst of this rude and busy crowd in Heathrow Airport, searching for their "flight" out.

"Do you want to sit down, Mum?" They'd arrived—thank goodness. Draco was so good at navigating this maze; perhaps one had to be young to adapt so well.

She nodded numbly, and Draco led her to a pair of seats near the floor to ceiling windows.

_Thirty minutes more. We just have to last thirty minutes._ After that, they would be in the air and even Bella wouldn't risk splinching herself in transatlantic Apparation to follow them. It would take weeks to organize an efficient search, _if _the Death Eaters could find allies in North America, where they'd never had good contacts. Narcissa let out a shaky breath.

_Twenty-nine minutes…_

* * *

**_4:43 pm, Casa Serpente._**

"Sirius!"

_"Sirius!"_

His vision was alternating black and red.

"Get a shield up!"

"Watch our backs, Peter!"

"Heads up—Bellatrix—she's—_Vexameum__!_"

"Nice shot, Moony!"

"He's bleeding—"

Spells and words merged into one. Sirius' left arm was on fire. He was breathing blood—a pillow of it cushioned his face, billowed around his head like waves.

"Padfoot?"

Arms suddenly wrapped around his torso as Remus hauled Sirius to his knees. Blood blurred his vision, poured down his throat. Sirius coughed hard, struggling to clear his airway.

"Sirius?"

Invisible claws raked at his soul, tore at his arm. Blood spurted up in a mini-geyser, coating Remus' face as well. Sirius coughed again, his entire body jerking. Everything burned, bled, _burned._ It hurt too much to scream. He would have collapsed again if not for Remus holding him up.

"Watch out!" Peter's voice cut through the haze just before his shield shattered; cackling red light struck Remus and Sirius both, knocking them flat and making Remus scream. James shouted something that was lost beneath Sirius' haze of pain, but Sirius somehow managed to get his wand up and _will _a shield into place between the Marauders and Voldemort. He did not know how long it would last, and his left arm felt dead, but Sirius got the shield _up_.

With a massive effort, he forced his body to roll right, off of Remus. Moony was on one knee before Sirius could sit up. "Your arm—"

"No time for that now."

But he spared it a glance as his shield buckled, wavered, and then held. The Mark glowed brightly underneath a sea of blood; his forearm was coated from elbow to fingertips, and the blood still flowed. _Don't think about the pain. _The long sleeve of his robes had torn away, and his trousers were already heavy, wet, and stained.

_Julia was right._

The shield collapsed just as Sirius lurched upwards to his feet, taking the next spell full in the chest because he knew that it was meant for him. Sirius staggered but managed not to fall; he was ready this time, and channeled all of the pain and rage into his next assault on the bubble. No time for a dueling crouch. No point.

His left arm jerked and bones shattered as the power arced out, finally making Sirius scream. James' cry was anguished:

"Padfoot! Look out!"

Cracks began to form at the bubble's edge as Sirius' attack struck. The wall directly behind Voldemort's spasmed once and then collapsed; steel gray magic rebounded off the shield and swept over the heads of Sirius and his friends, striking Death Eaters and knocking them flat. But the bubble held.

Sirius' vision had settled from swimming to blurry, hazy around the edges with pain and exhaustion. Usually, he'd willingly accept the handicap, knowing that Voldemort, too, would have been hit and likewise hurting. But he wasn't. For all the power Sirius had demonstrated, he'd not gotten through. Not even once.

Voldemort must have seen the expression on his face, for he started to laugh.

"You have always known that this moment would come! For all you have fought and all you have learned, you cannot force yourself to become what fate would not have you be!" the Dark Lord's voice thundered out, strong even in the howling wind. "You have lost, Sirius!"

A soft smile, almost gentle, transformed Voldemort's face.

"It is over."

* * *

Ye Old Other Author's Note: Yes, I'm evil. And yes, the story is finished. Not finished with editing, but finally done—I just put the finishing touches on PD48 today, which is a big relief. At any rate, stay tuned for the rest of the battle in Chapter Forty-Seven: "To Have Had Such Friends", and please do review!

(A secondary note for those of you who have noticed the changing of Grindelwald's first name—yes, it does. And one of these days I will fix it but it takes a long time to reformat chapters and such, especially with the different ways FFN demands formatting over the years. This trilogy has been going on long enough that I'd have to recreate every chapter to make them fit in with FFN's new way of doing business.)


	48. Chapter 47: To Have Had Such Friends

**Promises Defended **

* * *

_Chapter Forty-Seven: To Have Had Such Friends_

* * *

**_4:59pm_****_, Casa Serpente._**

"You have always known that this moment would come! For all you have fought and all you have learned, you cannot force yourself to become what fate would not have you be!" the Dark Lord's voice thundered out, strong even in the howling wind. "You have lost, Sirius!"

His arm was heavy with pain to the point of numbness; tremors and spasms racked his entire body. The rain had increased from random droplets to a steady sprinkle, but still wasn't enough to wash the blood off of Sirius' forearm. The Mark was bleeding too heavily to be easily washed away. Wet hair plastered down to his forehead, obscuring Sirius' vision slightly—but he hardly noticed. Sirius paid no attention to his ragged breathing, either. Not right now.

A soft smile, almost gentle, transformed Voldemort's face.

"It is over."

Every nerve in his body was alive in pain, tremors tearing outwards from the Mark and consuming every bone and every muscle. He'd never hurt like this before, not even in Azkaban—for this was a pain as much of the soul as of the body.

"It'll be over when I'm dead," Sirius responded, surprised how level his voice sounded. He spat blood out; when had he bitten his tongue? "And I am what I choose to be. Fate has nothing to do with it."

Sirius strode forward, closed the distance. The wind kicked up as he moved, tearing Sirius' robes away from his body and almost sweeping them away. The sharp touch of the wind's cutting edge made his Mark sting still more, but Sirius ignored it. He never broke eye contact. When he stopped, he could almost touch Voldemort's shield with the tip of his wand.

James and the others were fighting again; at least some of the Death Eaters were back up and moving. Sirius tuned their battle out. He trusted them to cover his back, and they had. Now Sirius had to hold up his end of the bargain.

A sudden gust of wind stole whatever words the Dark Lord was trying to say, blowing a flock of birds between Sirius and his enemy.

The pain came immediately after.

Screaming, Sirius used his body's vulnerability to drop like a rock to his left knee, leaning forward and stabbing his wand out. Seeing stars, he channeled the pain straight through himself and _outwards_—

_Crack._

The sudden light blinded him and that crashing sound was no thunder. The ground under Sirius' knees—somehow he'd wound up on both of them—rumbled ominously, almost sending him sprawling. The only way to catch himself turned out to be with his left hand, and broken bones ground against one another in protest—now Sirius _couldn't _scream. And he couldn't see. He could only keep the power flowing straight from his wand to the bubble and—

Blackness.

--

"_Brevisalvum__ Mali."_

Bellatrix was buried underneath a pile of rocks, but that wouldn't last. She'd broken at least some of his ribs with that last curse, but James hardly noticed. He _did _notice Sirius, however, saw his best friend drop to one knee in front of Voldemort's multi-layered shields and _push _magic into the bubble. Brilliant silver light surrounded Sirius, bleeding into the courtyard and turning the storm into daylight.

_Crack._

Tremors shook the ground; James had mostly expected it and yet he was still almost knocked off his feet. At least half of the Death Eaters went flying, with Blezing and Gibbon landing on top of the pile of stones still covering Bellatrix. Peter and Remus each fell at least once, staggering.

_Boom._

The ground buckled once, seeming to jump under James' feet. Peter fell, along with the rest of the Death Eaters. Remus caught himself on the first roll, but—

_Crack—BOOM._

But not the second. He toppled left, landing on Peter's back with an _umph__!_ Years of playing Quidditch saved James; he moved and turned with the rolling ground, his eyes fastened on Sirius with dread fascination.

Balanced on both knees and his left hand, Sirius' black hair was plastered all over his ghostly pale face; his eyes were open but did not appear to see anything. Yet still his wand held tight against that bubble, still the flow of magic held. Blood gushed from his left forearm, but he remained a conduit of power—if anything, the silver light _brightened._

_"Venderum!"_Voldemort shouted, staggering as the ground continued to shake. Only he and James were still on their feet.

_Snap._

Darkness invaded the light, smashing into Sirius, snapping his head and back so hard that James heard muscles and bones pop. Sparks flew as Sirius' wand came away from the bubble, sailing out of clearly nerveless fingers and tumbling off to James' right.

Casa Serpente went still with frightening suddenness. Surreal tranquility reigned; even the thunder was suddenly silent and the lightning seemingly far away.

The back of Sirius' head striking the ground was the only sound in the courtyard.

--

**_5:08pm_****_, The Ministry of Magic._**

People were starting to light candles, now. Despite the fact that it was late spring and the days were getting longer, nearly every witch and wizard standing vigil outside the Ministry had transfigured something into a candle. Buttons, barrettes, coins, and even cloaks had been sacrificed to make up the now-thousands of candles burning brightly enough to hurt sensitive eyes. Yet the crowd remained quiet. Hopeful.

Lily had been watching from the distance, staying in a quiet corner and to the shadows, but she knew the moment he stepped up beside her.

"Hello, Severus," she said quietly.

"Lily." His voice was tight, but she didn't turn; to the world, Severus Snape was still Voldemort's most devoted follower, and if the crowd noticed him he was sure to be cursed into oblivion. "They left Hogwarts about an hour ago."

"Hogwarts?" It took all of Lily's self control not to twist around and face him.

"Black tried to go alone. The others caught up with him."

Lily closed her eyes, felt her chest grow tight. "Oh."

Suddenly, Severus' hand landed on her left shoulder and squeezed. She almost jumped; the gesture was so unlike her old friend. "I do not believe in much, Lily," he said quietly. "But I do believe they will win. The Dark Lord…he will never understand what those four share, and that will kill him in the end."

"I don't think I understand, either," she whispered shakily. "Not all the time."

His chuckle was rough-sounding, but no longer bitter. "I know I do not," Severus replied. "But I don't need to. I simply trust that they will do the right thing."

So did the crowd, quiet, waiting, hoping. Believing.

--

**_5:11pm_****_,_****_ Casa Serpente._**

It had worked once; Voldemort would try the same spell again.

_"Venderum!"_

What little light that could make it through the clouds vanished; James barely got his wand up in time.

_"Contegorum !"_

The force of Voldemort's curse almost pounded James into the ground. Pain raced down his arm from his wand; his right hand went almost completely numb. But he stumbled forward, holding his wand up and shield in place. Peter was there before James had moved far, and together they pulled Sirius into the circle of safety formed by James' shield charm and the one Remus had cast between the Marauders and the Death Eaters.

James tried to ignore the thick trail of blood marking the path over which they'd pulled Sirius.

"Is he alive?" Remus shouted over his shoulder, his voice cracking under the strain of holding off the curses the Death Eaters were beginning to cast again. About a third of the enemy were standing, but Bellatrix and the others were shaking free of the collapsed wall and in moments Remus would be overwhelmed.

Peter leapt up and joined his shield to Remus', leaving James to deal with Voldemort and their moaning friend.

James couldn't afford to pull his wand away—he could no longer feel his right arm (and had to check to see if it was still there)—or he might have tried to pass some strength to Sirius, little though he had to spare.

Blue eyes flickered open; James barely managed to turn his head away before Sirius coughed up blood all over his face. But the fingers of Sirius' right hand twitched and his wand landed solidly in his palm, demonstrating control James had been sure he'd have lost by now. Sirius' left arm hung at an odd angle, but James knew he wasn't noticing.

"Rest a minute," he rasped, agony shooting through his shoulder and into his chest. "I can hold him while you rest."

Sirius shook his head drunkenly.

"No." His smile was lopsided, half-wild. "Now the fight begins."

--

**_5:15pm_****_,_****_ Hogwarts._**

News had reached Hogwarts, and within moments the school shut down. Dinner in the Great Hall was strangely silent; tonight wasn't the first time that the Headmaster's chair had been empty during the meal, but this was different. _Everyone _knew where Remus was, and even the Slytherins were quiet. Waiting.

Harry's turkey tasted like ash. Even the pie wasn't appetizing. He didn't want to eat, and even Hermione wasn't nagging him about dinner. She was quiet, too. Waiting.

The Misfits didn't have to say a word. Harry knew they were there, and he'd never before been so grateful for such friends.

--

**_5:16pm_****_,_****_ Casa Serpente._**

_If a bird can get there, I can, too._

Of course, the last time Sirius has told James something like that, his antics had led to a weeklong detention for all four Marauders, cleaning out the Owlery with old-fashioned scrub brushes under Professor McGonagall's watchful eye. But the theory was the same, and he _had _gotten through that time, despite James laughing at him and Peter wishing he wouldn't.

James wouldn't be laughing this time, though Peter undoubtedly would wish that Sirius wouldn't try this, either. But Sirius was already in motion, instinctively knowing what he had to do. The flock of birds had flown right through Voldemort's bubble—no resistance, no bouncing off, no pain. And magical theory was logical; the birds made it through because they were harmless. Birds clearly didn't classify as dangerous, and Voldemort had taken a typical defensive stance when building his shield bubble: it repelled _threats. _And probably humans, too, just for good measure.

Sirius couldn't do a damn thing to make himself seem less dangerous to Voldemort, but he could make himself not-human. Easily.

His left foot came up off of the ground normally; it came down as a paw. Wand held loosely between his teeth (he'd left many a toothmark in the old one), Padfoot bounded forward, straight into the bubble. He couldn't see the expression on Voldemort's face, as Padfoot's vision was far murkier than a human's, but a rushed Stunner sailed over his head in mid-leap.

Then he was through the bubble. However, Sirius had expected resistance and got none. He tumbled forward, his front legs failing to properly support his weight when he landed and planting Padfoot's face in the dirt (he'd forgotten how a broken arm translated into a broken _leg_)—Sirius twisted the fall into a roll and came upright as a man.

Casually, he spat his wand out, catching it in his right hand. And then he smiled, left arm still dripping blood into a new pool at his feet.

"Hello, Tom."

--

**_5:17pm_****_, Avalon._**

They were ready, now, just in case. Bill was in command in Frank's absence, and it was all he could do not to pace in frustration. He'd left the scene at the Ministry—why stick around and wait when he could prepare a thousand and one things for a fight he prayed he'd never have to fight? Of course, the Aurors had long since been ready, and the argument had been made—more than once—that they should have accompanied the Marauders to Casa Serpente. But Sirius had said no, rightly pointing out that they wouldn't make much of a difference in a fight between him and Voldemort, but if he hit the Dark Lord hard enough, they just might get a piece of him during round two.

So Bill waited, asked redundant questions, and finally gave into the urge to pace.

--

**_5:17pm_****_, Casa Serpente._**

It had gone on long enough. Voldemort's eyes were wide with fury and perhaps a little fear—but Sirius kept on smiling. Julia had been right.

And this was the moment.

Heartbeat.

He met the angry red eyes. He saw Voldemort search for the confidently arrogant words that would frighten this upstart Auror, a mere wizard who had no business facing the _Dark Lord_ on his own terms. He saw that Voldemort still did not understand…and that he never would.

"You die now!" the Dark Lord shouted.

Sirius' smile faded, and he twirled his wand around to point at his own left forearm. His reply was soft. "Not today."

Confusion halted Voldemort's wand in mid-strike; sparks fizzled off of the end and faded away. Immediately, the Dark Lord's eyes flicked to the other Marauders, but Sirius had no need to look back. He knew they were there. Knew they were watching his back, there for him—just as they had always been. _Just as we will always be._

Twenty-three years of friendship gave him the strength to risk all.

Sirius' wand touched his Dark Mark just as Voldemort's gaze swung back; their eyes locked.

Sirius' voice was soft. _"Avada Kedavra."_

The world seemed to stop.

The pain in his left arm vanished. With his gaze still focused on Voldemort, Sirius couldn't see his Dark Mark, but he thought that its burning had ceased for the first time since Voldemort had revealed the Mark in Diagon Alley—Voldemort's face had gone still.

Sirius couldn't blink. Couldn't break the connection. Couldn't hear the thunder or feel the ground shake—had time slowed? Stopped?

Red eyes widened in shock, searching Sirius' face. Wildly searching. Aside from that, Voldemort seemed likewise unable to move—he only stared at Sirius, desperate for answers. Their eyes locked again, one last time. Froze.

And then the Dark Lord's legendary red eyes faded to blue.

--

Heartbeat.

One second finally ticked by.

Voldemort crumbled to the ground in slow motion, his wand falling out of lifeless fingers and bouncing twice on the courtyard's stones before settling to a stop. His pale hand came to a rest inches away, but did it not reach for the wand. For what seemed a lifetime, Sirius watched the motionless body, waiting for something to happen. Waiting for the catch.

_Tick_. Another second.

Dizziness swept over Sirius, and suddenly everything _hurt._ The world sped up in a hurry, thunder crashed and the ground shook under his feet. And then stone rushed up to hit Sirius in the face.

--

**_5:19 pm_****_, The Ministry of Magic._**

Severus staggered. Lily heard his hiss of pain even as she spun to support him. The movement proved unnecessary; Severus caught himself before she even finished turning, but Lily saw the pain etched deep into his features and noticed how his right hand kept twitching in the direction of his left forearm.

Tension made speech almost impossible. A long moment passed before she could gasp " What happened?"

"He—" Severus staggered again and Lily barely caught him. Unable to support his sagging weight for long, she managed to help her old friend sink into a sitting position.

"Voldemort? He attacked you?"

But Severus shook his head, wonder making his eyes wide. "He's dead."

Lily could only stare.

--

**_5:20 pm_****_,_****_ Casa Serpente._**

"Sirius!" Remus heard Peter's cry even as Death Eaters started crumbling; by the time he turned, both Sirius and Voldemort were on the ground, Sirius lying in a pool of blood and Voldemort absolutely motionless.

James got to Sirius' side first, but only by a hair's breath. Remus would never remember running, but he and Peter arrived at the same moment. Only after he'd passed through where the shield's edge had been did Remus realize that Voldemort's bubble was gone.

All three Marauders were kneeling in blood. Far too much blood.

"He's breathing," Peter whispered.

Blue eyes stared blankly past Remus, James, and Peter, then blinked once. Peter had been right; Sirius _was _breathing—but not well. But what mattered was that he was, and Sirius' eyes were still open, too. Blank, but open.

A long moment passed before any of them overcame fear enough to speak. "Sirius…?" James breathed.

The Auror blinked again. Remus glanced up from his face briefly to meet James' eyes, and then laid a hand on Sirius' right shoulder, even though doing so meant he had to reach across Sirius' body to do so. However, Remus was extremely careful to avoid Sirius' still-bleeding left forearm; in fact, he avoided touching any part of that arm at all, just in case. He had no trouble at all remembering Sirius' reaction the last time the Mark had been so…damaged.

"Sirius?" James tried again, less hesitant this time and more worried.

A long moment passed in silence.

"Sirius!"

The shout did not work, either. Sirius' eyes slid shut.

"…Sirius?" Remus asked quietly, shaking his friend lightly at first, and then harder. But there was no response.

--

**_5:21 pm, The Ministry of Magic._**

"Don't walk away yet." Severus was on his feet now, but his voice was still scratchy. Hesitant.

Lily blinked. "What made you think I was going to?"

Severus coughed harshly and turned to face her with shadowed eyes.

"I know you want to tell them…I know that you feel the world should know. But _wait, _please. I might be wrong. Or something else might have happened. Everything could be different from how things seem."

"All…right." Lily sucked in a deep breath, fighting back the urge to shout joyously to the crowd that Voldemort was dead, that the long shadow of darkness was finally lifted.

"Wait until they get back," Severus finished raggedly, suddenly looking exhausted. _Old._ Worn. "Then we'll know."

--

**_5:21 pm_****_, Casa Serpente._**

The three Marauders looked up as the eerie yet beautiful song split the air, and something seemed to change.

Remus could almost hear Hermione Granger's voice reciting from the text in his head: _"The song of the phoenix gives strength and hope to those it sings for, increasing the courage of the pure of heart and striking fear into the hearts of the impure."_

Far in the sky above, a red-gold-amber shape seemed to glow against the dark sky, light flowing downwards from the feathered form to surround the Marauders in sudden golden sunlight.

Lightning still flashed, but even the thunder seemed to quiet.

Remus did not dare look down.

* * *

Ye Old Other Author's Note: Yeah, I'm terrible. I can blame being underway—which I was (without internet)—but regardless, here is Chapter 47. I'll be underway the coming week, but I hope to post as soon as I return, so stay tuned for Chapter 48: "Strength and Hope." Please do review—this story has been a labor of love over several years, now, and I'd love to know what you think!


	49. Chapter 48: Strength and Hope

**Promises Defended **

* * *

_Chapter Forty-Eight: Strength and Hope_

* * *

**_5:22 pm_****_, Casa Serpente._**

Fawkes circled once, twice, and then a third and a fourth time. Slowly, softly, he came to the ground at Sirius' side, his luminous eyes focused on Hogwarts' headmaster. There were tears growing in the golden orbs.

A chill ripped down Remus' spine.

_"A phoenix's tears can heal, but they cannot bring back the dead. And what is death, if not the last and greatest adventure?"_ Dumbledore's words, from oh so long ago. But Remus wasn't ready for that adventure to hit, not now, now when they'd _won_—

He tried to swallow back his fears and failed. He just stared back at the phoenix, dimly aware that his friends were dumbly doing the same. Fawkes' eyes met his, shining and silvery, ageless and sad. Remus felt tears falling down his own cheeks, silent and painfully hot.

Peter's voice, loud in the silence. "Someone ought to make sure that…V-Voldemort is dead."

"Later." James' voice was flat and dead, sounded as if it would never hold life again. The unspoken thought was a shout in the storm:

_Because if Voldemort is alive and Sirius is dead, nothing else matters._

He swallowed back the pain that wanted to wail out of him. The wolf in him, never silent but often forgotten, wanted to howl at the unfairness of the universe, to cry for the loss of friend, of _pack_, of _brother._ Even if Voldemort was dead, was the price too high?

Fawkes' head dropped to look at Sirius, lying so quietly as the rain drummed lightly down. Slowly, the phoenix hopped forward, extending his beak towards Sirius' bleeding left arm, seeming to study the limb as the steady flow of blood continued. Remus tried to swallow again, but found he lacked the air to do so, lacked the concentration to stop holding his breath. His heart was pounding so noisily in his ears that he wondered if the organ quite literally had jumped into his throat—that was James' hand gripping his arm so tightly that Remus' hand had already gone numb.

He opened his mouth to whisper a plea to Dumbledore's phoenix, his phoenix, but no words would come.

Large, gleaming eyes met his again, and Fawkes nodded, just once.

"Please…" James' voice finally broke the silence. "Can you…?"

But Fawkes was already moving, his head dropping further, until it almost touched Sirius' arm. With his gaze still locked on Remus, the phoenix blinked.

One tear fell.

At least it seemed so to Remus; with the rain still trying to wash the blood away and Sirius' flesh all but vanished beneath the sea of red, it was impossible to tell if he was imagining things or if Fawkes had actually—

A second tear.

Something suspiciously like a gasp came from James' direction, Peter's direction. Remus had no idea that he'd made the same sound, heartbroken and hopeful all at the same time.

And a third.

For the longest of moments, nothing happened.

Then, slowly, the blood coating Sirius' Dark Mark began to fizzle away, evaporating into the water-saturated air. Even as raindrops beat down, the angry red lines of the Mark became visible, digging deeply into flesh, deeper than any knife could cut. But—the bright red wounds were suddenly fading, darkening, first to brown and then to black, and then finally lightening to gray…and then to the white of old scars, never forgotten but fully healed.

"So, are you three going to stare at my arm all night, or are you going to congratulate me on slaying the scariest Dark Wizard who ever lived?"

Flat on his back with an impish grin firmly in place, Sirius' blue eyes were _open._

"Sirius!" James got the word out first, but just barely, hauling their friend into a sitting position and wrapping him in a bone-crushing hug. Remus and Peter piled on a moment later, not caring how foolish they looked, just that it was finally, miraculously and unbelievably over.

Somewhere in the middle of their embrace, Remus became aware that Fawkes had flown away, his eerily beautiful song echoing between thunderclaps. He felt a pang of regret for the phoenix's departure, but there would be time later to thank Dumbledore's faithful old friend.

"Um." Sirius' voice was muffled. "D'you think you three mind going easy on the body? I'm a bit sore."

"A bit?" Peter demanded as the other three reluctantly let go. "A _bit?_ You daft idiot—we had no idea you were going to try something like that!"

"Well, neither did I. But it worked, didn't it?" Sirius' grin blazed brightly for a moment, then faded slightly. "Thanks to you three, anyway. I couldn't…well, it wouldn't have worked if you weren't here to watch my back."

Remus kept his tone soft. "Told you so," he chided gently.

"Yeah, well, I've never been a good listener, have I?" Sirius retorted, making the other Marauders smile.

Yes, Sirius had tried to leave them behind. Yes, that broken promise had hurt more than anything else possibly could. But—they all understood, too. There would be no hard feelings from this. What mattered was that in the end, they'd stood together.

"Just so long as you've learned your lesson," James replied cheerfully, rising and offering Sirius a hand. "No more going off to do heroics by yourself."

Sirius accepted the proffered assistance and rose shakily. "No more heroics at all, I hope," he groused, and then peered suspiciously at James. "I don't suppose there's any chance of you letting me retire, is there?"

"Not even a slight one, mate," the Minister of Magic replied. "You're staying right where you are."

"Damn." But Sirius grinned; there was no feeling behind the word.

They stood in silence, together, for a long moment, but it was good silence. Comfortable silence. And Remus felt an answering grin forming on his face—yes, it was over.

Until Sirius had to break the moment, of course.

"Um…one other thing. Do you think I can have that rather sappy letter I wrote back? It was nice as a goodbye, but now that I'm alive and you're all alive—and have read it, I assume—it's rather embarrassing."

Peter almost fell over laughing, and Remus felt like collapsing right on top of him. James looked torn between punching Sirius and hugging him, finally settling on giving him a grumpy look that couldn't withstand the others' laughter for long. Only Sirius managed to keep looking rather hangdog about it.

"I'm serious!" he objected. "I wasn't in my right—"

"Of course you're serious," Remus managed to interject with a straight face. "You always are."

Baleful glare. "No fair using my own pun against me."

"Ah, but you've been using it for years on us, Padfoot," Peter snickered. "Turnaround is fair play."

"Hardly," Sirius grumbled. "So, not getting the letter back, eh?"

"Not a chance," James confirmed. "I think I'm going to frame it, put it on the wall—maybe give it to Remus and let him put it up at Hogwarts for all to see…"

"Prongs!" Sirius sounded horrified.

Really and truly over.

--

**_Nurmengard_****_ Prison_**

Each piece went back into the box one by one, placed carefully and lovingly. There the game would stay…until the next time. For now, the Greater Game was over, at least in this stage. There would always be another, of course, but perhaps watching that would be the work of the next generation. Perhaps he would pass the set on, and with it the knowledge that came from both watching and playing the oldest of all games.

His part in it was finally over.

--

* * *

Ye Old Other Author's Note: Yes, it's terribly short, but there is only one more chapter and an epilogue to go. It's absolutely unbelievable (for me), as this journey has taken such a very long time…and yet it's not quite over. So, please let me know what you think, and if you encourage me, I'll try to get the next chapter up before I get underway next Monday.


	50. Chapter 49: Knowing the Price

**

* * *

**

Promises Defended

* * *

_Chapter Forty-Nine: Knowing the Price_

* * *

Over. The word was downright magical sounding, but it implied that there was no cleanup left to be done, which was quite monumentally wrong.

If this had been some Muggle action movie, Sirius supposed that one of the remaining Death Eaters would have suddenly leapt to their feet and attacked the Marauders, burning to avenge their dear, lost lord. The thought brought a smile to his face and almost made him laugh, but laughing hurt, so he stopped himself. Still, Death Eaters were abominably selfish people, for the most part, and Sirius was not at all surprised to see that even the conscious ones (only three of them, in all) had surrendered right away. None of them were crazy enough (or loyal enough) to keep fighting for a lost cause.

Except for dear cousin Trixie, of course.

They'd accounted for all the others, all fourteen of them (eight dead, three unconscious, and three barely awake enough to hand their wands over). The only one missing was Bellatrix Lestrange, the Dark Lord's most loyal and least sane follower. Somewhere between Voldemort dying and Fawkes healing Sirius' arm, she'd disappeared, probably Apparating away from Casa Serpente to "regroup" someplace else. But she was it. Sirius supposed that they'd have to deal with Trixie sooner or later (they meaning _him_, or more appropriately Sirius and the Aurors), but overall the results were fairly good.

_Fairly, hell! This is better than any of my wildest dreams._

He'd been so terrified of losing the others that—

_No. Don't think of that. The present is what's important. The present and the future, not fears of the past._

After all, the present was much more interesting than the past, especially considering the flabbergasted look on Bill Weasley's face as Sirius stepped out of PriAp on Avalon. Wary Aurors were rushing up from every direction, probably figuring that if Voldemort had killed Sirius, he might have somehow gained access to the secrets of Avalon—oh, the thought was so ridiculous that Sirius burst out laughing.

"I come in peace!" he managed to get out, keeping his hands where the others could see them.

"Sirius?" Bill finally said, gaping.

"Of course! What'd you expect, the Big Bad Wolf?" He grinned at them, but contained his mirth with an effort. "Sorry to disappoint, then. But the deed's done, and we could use some help at Casa Serpente in bringing the Death Eaters to prison."

A long moment passed in stunned silence. Hestia Jones finally broke it.

"Is he…?"

"Oh, no. He's dead. I don't think we'd want to try to keep Voldemort in a cell, even if we could." And dead meant definitely _dead_; Sirius had checked. Thoroughly.

He hadn't known an entire group of people could go limp with relief, at least not simultaneously like that. He gave them a moment, let the news sink in, and then handed Bill the map.

"Let's get moving."

--

They'd left the Aurors to finish up at Casa Serpente after less than thirty minutes; now that the victory had sunk in, the Marauders were dead tired. And they still each had at least a hundred things to do before they could rest…because the world needed to know that it was finally free of fear after so many decades of terror. So, to the Ministry of Magic they traveled, marginally cleaned up and hardly presentable.

Sirius balked, of course, desperately wanting to head home to Julia. Ever patient Julia, who'd loyally waited for him so many times, and who had even more loyally gone against him in telling his friends that Sirius had gone off alone. He'd had enough of making her wait, and he had promises to keep—except that James was right. This wasn't the Marauders' moment; it was the world's.

Sirius was sick of being selfless, but he figured that one more foray into playing the well-behaved, do-gooding hero was about all he had left in him, so this was the best time to get it out of his system before it became a habit he was stuck with. James had read his aggravated expression and laughed, but the four Marauders had Apparated to the Ministry together.

They didn't expect the crowd.

Oh, a rather sizable group of people was to be expected (this was the Ministry of Magic, after all), but not a candle-lighting, holding-your-breath, conducting-a-vigil type of crowd. Thousands of faces stared at the Marauders, some pale and some flushed, others worried and others fully confident. Thousands. Thousands of witches and wizards waiting on them.

They certainly didn't expect to be _mobbed_, either.

"Stampede" wasn't quite the appropriate word for what was happening, but it came very close. Wrung out by waiting and desperate for news, the entire crowd surged forward despite Lily's best efforts to stop them, moving as one giant mass and closing in on the Marauders with alarming speed. The sudden onslaught of bodies made Sirius flinch back—he'd faced Voldemort without fear, but he just couldn't _take _unchecked adulation, wary suspicion, or outright joy at the moment. He'd done his part, played the game and been the hero, and he just didn't want to _deal _with this any more.

He was so damn tired. Tired of it all.

For the first time, his injuries started pressing in on him. How many Quick Heals had he used? He'd lost count, but the banged up and bloody backside of his head was starting to itch something wonderful when the wound wasn't sending fiery jets of pain into his skull. His left arm was definitely still broken, which he realized rather belatedly; Fawkes had been able to heal the Mark, but the bones were still fractured at the very least. The cracked ribs (or were they broken?) were starting to matter, too, and Sirius suddenly realized that he'd probably want to limp when he started walking again. Though how he'd decide which sore side to favor was absolutely beyond him.

The adrenaline high, the victory, the _purpose_, was wearing off, and he just wanted to sleep. Or collapse. Or see Julia and let her mother the everlasting hell out of him (not a very Julia-like thing to do, but as she'd be rather irritated with him for getting so beaten up, Sirius figured he had a pretty good chance of it happening). Or maybe he'd just pass out. Whichever option arrived first would be welcome.

He took an involuntary step backwards when the crowd kept pushing in, and was relieved to see Remus and James move between his battered body and the mob.

"You all right, Padfoot?" Peter asked quietly, standing close enough to catch Sirius if he fell.

_He probably thinks I'm going to, too, _he couldn't help thinking. _Might be right, too._

Sirius managed to smile for the shorter man. "Course I am. For the moment."

"How long is that moment going to last?" Oh, how much little Peter had grown. He always asked the hard questions these days.

"Good question. But long enough."

James, bless his foolish little politician's heart, was trying to shout the crowd into silence. Of course, he was too tired to even think of using a Sonorus Charm until Remus did it for him:

_"Sonorus_,_" _the headmaster muttered with James in mid-word.

"—adies and Gentlemen, if I could _please _have your attention—"

A thousand questions cut him off, amplified voice or no.

"Is He-Who-Must-Not-Be—"

"You lost, didn't you?"

"—we're all going to die…"

"Are Death Eaters on their way here?"

"You're running! You're running and—"

"Is it true that—?"

"—bringing hundreds of Death Eaters?"

James tried again, his voice booming out. This was undoubtedly the most unruly crowd he'd ever faced as Minister of Magic; desperation filled the air. "If you'd just—"

"What's going to happen to us now?"

"Is it true that all the Aurors are—"

"—can't even fight—"

"Cowards!"

"—over? Is it really over?"

"This is ridiculous," Sirius muttered under his breath as a hundred other questions overrode the few he could actually make out. "If they want their bloody hero, I'll play their bloody hero. Literally bloody, too."

And he pushed his way past Peter, between Remus and James. Almost immediately, the questions quieted, and Sirius fought the urge to giggle. What kind of idiots chose to listen to him over James?

Scowling, he dug his wand out of his pocket, finding it rather sticky to the touch and glancing down in dismay. _Oh. Blood. I should have remembered that._ He aimed at his throat. _"Sonorus_,_"_

Not a moment too soon; several wizards at the front of the crowd were just gathering in the breath to shout again. Bu the glared at them, and the crowd stayed silent, shifting impatiently.

_I wish I had something poetic or memorable to say right now. That would be fitting._ But he just didn't have the energy to bother.

"You can all go home now," he announced (rather lamely, Sirius thought). "Voldemort's dead. So're most of the Death Eaters. The Aurors are out there now, and they've got his body. It's over."

One witch's voice, alone in the crowd. "How did he die?"

"I—_we_ killed him." Sirius gestured back at his friends. "Together."

He felt more than heard James, Peter, and Remus step up beside him, heard the collective intake of breath from the crowd. They were waiting for _more_, damn them, and he didn't have much left to give. He was so sick of playing this game and just wanted to go back to being himself. _I still hate this. Now more than ever._

"It's over," he finally repeated. "Go home. Please. We're pretty tired, and we'd like to do the same."

--

Julia was waiting.

She didn't fly at him, didn't bawl from the joy of seeing that Sirius was all right—she wouldn't have been Julia Malfoy if she'd done either of those. Instead, she just walked up and wrapped her arms around him, letting Sirius relax and breathe the scent of her hair in deeply. Doing so made him cough, of course, but he'd always been a bit of an idiot.

"I'm not sorry," she whispered by way of greeting.

Despite his exhaustion, Sirius grinned into her hair. "Never said you should be," he replied. "I've always needed a bit of looking after, you know. Good thing you volunteered to set me straight."

Her laugh sounded suspiciously like a sob, and he squeezed her as tight as his protesting body would let him. There weren't words, but fortunately Julia knew him well enough to know.

"C'mon," he said after a few moments. "Let's get me lying down before I collapse."

Julia pulled back to give him a critical once-over. "You look awful."

"Sounds like how I feel."

"You really should go to St. Mungo's. Or to Avalon." Sensible Julia, always straight to the point and solving the problems.

"Not a chance. This time, I'm using their damn hero worship and the healers can come to me. I'm staying—"

Julia caught him when he fell. "I get the idea," she said dryly when he tried to finish his sentence. "But you're doing it in bed."

He passed out somewhere between where his mother's portrait used to be and his bedroom; Sirius never could remember where.

--

Madam Pomfrey scowled like she wanted to kill both of them when Remus and Peter appeared inside Hogwarts' hospital wing, leaning a bit too heavily on one another for safety—when Peter lost his balance, Remus' flailing left arm caught a shelf full of Skel-Grow bottles and sent it crashing to the floor.

"Sorry, Poppy," he managed to say as he caught himself (and Peter).

"Shame on you, Headmaster," the matron retorted, but Remus could see the worry in her eyes. He and Peter had made sure that Sirius was safely back at Grimmauld Place, and then Remus had used the special ability granted to him by the Font to Apparate directly to the hospital wing. Apparating on Hogwarts grounds wasn't a talent he liked to advertise, but feeling how he was feeling meant that he didn't relish having to walk all the way in from Hogsmeade or the Forbidden Forest.

Besides, he wasn't quite sure either of them could have made it that far—James had it easy; Lily had Buddy-Apparated him to the house at Godric's Hollow and sent for a healer from St. Mungo's. Of course, St. Mungo's was more than happy to provide the Minister of Magic with in-home service (actually, the hospital had made the same offer to all four of them, but Hogwarts was Remus' home and Peter needed the company). So, here they were on the receiving end of one of Poppy Pomfrey's legendary glares.

Remus smiled sheepishly, and her eyes softened.

"It's true, then?" Pomfrey asked quietly. "He's—he's dead?"

"Yes." Remus let out a deep breath. "He is."

Her answer was a sad but proud smile. Of all the professors and staff that had been at Hogwarts to remember four insufferable little boys, Poppy was one of the few left living. She'd watched them grow, change, and learn to fight over the years, and now she looked at Remus and Peter as if something was finally complete.

"Well, then. Let's get you two in bed and cleaned up." The sad-but-proud look vanished, replaced by her customary bustle. "Headmaster, bed to the left. Pettigrew, bed to the right."

Both complied like the schoolboys they'd been so long ago.

"Now, I don't want to know how you both managed to get quite so banged up, but I will ask if there's anything I need to know. Any strange curses, poisons…anything?"

"No." Remus glanced to his right at Peter, who shrugged. "Nothing we can think of, anyway."

"Besides," Wormtail added helpfully, "we're not that bad off. You should see Sirius."

The only response he received was a glower, and Remus suddenly got the feeling that it was going to be a very long night.

--

"Oh, give up, Hestia. You can't keep staring at the body like it's going to bite."

Bill had received nicer glares from Death Eaters who were trying to kill him.

"I don't like bodies," the other Auror snapped, turning with her arms crossed to scowl at her original target again. "And I don't like him. Not to mention that I'm not wholly convinced that this _is _only a body, and you're the one who said we needed to guard it."

"We not necessarily meaning you," Bill replied. "There's a roster set up for this, you know."

"Le Francois has gone on break. I'm filling in."

"Le Francois is right behind you, and has been standing here for ten minutes," Le Francois replied for Bill.

Hestia rolled her eyes, still frowning. "Fine, then. I still think it's too good to be true."

"I doubt Sirius would agree with you on that, judging from the way he looked earlier." Bill fell into step with her as they mounted the stairs heading out of Avalon's underground prison. Voldemort's body locked in the highest security behind them.

"He wound up like that after nearly all of their fights," Hestia snorted.

"True. But this is the one that counted."

Hestia sighed. "Yeah. I guess I just have a hard time believing that it's over. I've spent my life fighting him, and—"

"Bill, all—_oof__!_"

Sheer force of habit guided Bill's hands, and he caught Tonks before she could wind up in a puddle at his feet. His former student blushed a bit, but not nearly so much as she used to.

"Thanks. Hate it when that happens."

"No problem." He let go the moment she had her balance, smiling easily. Tonks almost never took a wrong step in a mission, but give her a simple task like walking and she tripped every time.

"All the prisoners are secure—we can move them to Nurmengard in the morning. We've checked them all, even the bodies, against the list of all known Death Eaters, and everything matches up. Sirius was right—the only one still on the loose is Bellatrix Lestrange." She scowled upon saying the name, but plowed on. "Unless you want to count those who deserted before the final battle, they're pretty well finished."

Bill and Hestia exchanged a glance. "I don't think they'll be a problem," Bill replied after a moment. "But I'm sure we'll want to keep tabs on them."

"Right up until they make deals with the Ministry, anyway," Hestia grumbled.

"Better deals than them killing people, Hestia."

"The one we do need to worry about is Bellatrix. She's crazy enough to go on a killing spree for no good reason."

"You can say that again," Tonks breathed.

"And I'm certain a lot of people will." Bill smiled tightly. "Well, let's get our people some rest…and then we know who we'll be hunting in the morning."

--

Remus had been right about the long night. Instead of dropping off to sleep in the hospital wing, he'd made the foolish (but necessary) decision to stop by the Great Hall before heading back to his quarters, just to see how things were going. Peter tagged along because he'd be sleeping on Remus' massive couch, and neither of them quite felt like going to sleep yet, no matter how smart of an idea that would have been.

He'd expected a party—since Poppy had heard, news had to be all over the school already—and he wasn't disappointed.

This one wasn't as wild as a few others he could remember, and there wasn't a food fight in sight, but it was full of buoying and contagious relief. Many years had passed since he'd heard this hall full of such unrestrained and carefree laughter; these were students who suddenly _knew _they were not growing up to face a war. No more lost friends. No more dead parents. They could finally be children again.

A great cheer went up as he and Peter entered the Great Hall, and they were immediately mobbed by professors and students alike. Even Filch was smiling broadly, apparently having decided that the entire student body was allowed to be up past lights out—just this once.

Ted was pumping his hand vigorously. "I got word from Dora and shared it with the school—you don't mind, do you? It seemed too good of news to keep secret."

"No, I don't mind." Remus smiled. He didn't mind anything that made his children so happy. Not when it was something like this.

"So, it's really true?" Sinistra asked, and Remus nodded. They all had to hear it, he supposed. Just as he would have needed to in their place.

"Yes. It's true. He's dead."

The four boys in the painting were smiling, arms wrapped affectionately around each other's shoulders. They focused on him for a moment, and Remus nodded a thank you to the young men the Marauders might have been. Those were the young men they might have been without the war…and still might be again. _After all, we're not _really _that old, and we have our entire lives ahead of us. The world is still ours for the taking._

To his right, Peter grinned at him, probably knowing exactly what Remus was thinking.

_Then again, looking at where we are, there's not much of the world left to take._

Someone pressed a butterbeer into his hands, and Remus sipped gratefully. Butterbeer was weak enough that it'd not go to his head; at the moment, anything slightly alcoholic would probably knock him flat.

"We did it," Peter said softly.

Remus grinned. "That we did."

It wasn't long before students and staff alike were pressing for details, and Remus found himself stuttering out half-coherent explanations. He wasn't half as bad in front of crowds as he used to be, but he still rehearsed all of his Welcoming Feast and Leaving Feast speeches, and Remus hated being thrust into the limelight without warning.

So it was Peter, terrified boy turned diplomat, who saved him.

"It started here," Wormtail explained. "With four very different boys who found something in each other. For seven years they were absolutely inseparable, and before they left, they vowed to be brothers no matter what, brothers until the end.

"That wasn't always easy. Only in fairytales do friendships last without trials and pain, and theirs' had plenty of each. But it lasted. It lasted through disappearance, through betrayals, through deaths, and through broken promises. But in the end, those boys—now men—were brothers. And even when one of them tried to leave the others behind, to keep them safe, they stayed together. And they faced Voldemort…together."

Peter shoved his hands into his pockets, staring back at enraptured faces.

"The details don't matter so much in the end. What does matter is that we stayed together when others would have torn us apart. That we made promises and refused to break them.

"No matter how powerful Voldemort was, he couldn't defeat four friends, four _brothers_, who knew the price of standing against him and chose to pay it anyway."

* * *

--

Ye Old Other Author's Note: Only the epilogue left to go! But look for a surprise coming soon—a surprise set in the Unbroken Universe. I won't spoil it by saying more, but in the meantime, if you're a _Doctor Who _fan, please check out my new stories, such as Red Bicycle while you're waiting for the epilogue to come up.


	51. Epilogue: Futures Unbroken

**Promises Defended**

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_Epilogue: Futures Unbroken_

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There were loose ends to tie up, of course. Hundreds of them.

-----------

Remus gave Hermione back the Time Turner at the same celebration, watching her turn red when she explained to her friends what she had helped him do. She was mobbed within seconds, Hogwarts' own little heroine, the only student who'd managed to take any part in the final battle.

He was glad for that. Once or twice, he'd seen the vision of a future that might have been, where children were forced to grow up faster and faster, forced to fight battles his generation had given up for lost. But that future— those visions—were no more. The Marauders had made sure of that, and though Remus would never know what the breaking point might have been, he would always be glad to look at Harry and never see a lightning-bolt shaped scar on his forehead.

Yet the visions had shown Remus other glimpses, too, and he made a mental note to ask Ted to re-introduce him to his clumsy daughter. It was time to look to the future.

-----------

Bellatrix Lestrange did indeed embark on the string of murders Bill and Hestia had feared she would, staying one step ahead of the Aurors for months until she made one tiny mistake.

Still obsessed with the purity of blood and clinging to old betrayals, Bellatrix finally Apparated into the modest home her disinherited sister shared with the Muggleborn Ted Tonks. She found Andromeda in the kitchen, alone, and proceeded to lecture her on all the things Andromeda had done wrong over the years, on all the "bad" choices she'd made. Andromeda listened patiently to the half-sane rant, never once moving for her wand—

And Bellatrix never noticed the curse that felled her from behind.

"I'm not sorry this time, Bella," Narcissa Black Malfoy said quietly, moving to their sister's side and taking the wand out of her slack hand.

She'd send Draco back to Hogwarts when the term began, where he'd spend the first few weeks making up for the time he'd missed while the Malfoys sheltered in Canada. But that day, the Black sisters would sit quietly over tea and try to heal the rift between them for the first time in many years.

They'd have plenty of time to talk, even after the Aurors arrived to take Bellatrix away. Narcissa figured that stopping her murdering sister was well worth a pardon for herself and her son, not to mention something well worth doing for its own sake.

She was tired of fighting; she just wanted to live again.

-----------

Bellatrix went to join the other Death Eaters in Nurmengard Prison, one of the few to receive a life sentence with no chance of parole. Many of the others who had deserted Voldemort in the final days of the war were also there, most having turned themselves in for reduced sentences.

The prison was dreary and boring, but guarded by a multi-national force of Aurors instead of Dementors. Even if they could have figured out how to breed or create them (which by now everyone knew Voldemort had never really managed), no one was interested. Better to bore prisoners to death than drive them insane.

Bellatrix was in the place of honor, a cell once occupied by Grindelwald and later by Voldemort's corpse as nations fought over what to do with his remains. They wound up burning the body and keeping the ashes under lock and key on Avalon—hardly Wizarding custom, but deemed the safest route by all concerned.

Every few years, someone would claim to be Voldemort, or possessed by his ghost, or even to have his ashes and consequently the ability to wreak havoc on the Wizarding World. The claims grew more ridiculous as time passed, and the Aurors dealt with them as they came. They had a pool going by the fifth anniversary of his death, and somehow Nymphadora Tonks-Lupin always won when it came to predicting what the next crazy claim would be.

-----------

As Harry's third year at Hogwarts began, many obvious changes had taken place. The most controversial one was the reinstatement of Severus Snape as Deputy Headmaster; even though he'd been fully pardoned by the Minister of Magic himself, people were slow to trust. However, as the details of Snape's long years as a spy came out, most of his detractors fell silent—it was hard to argue with so much sacrifice.

Ted Tonks gleefully stepped down from Snape's old post and remained the head of Gryffindor House, seemingly unoffended by working under the most famous Death Eater to receive a pardon. Professors Plumpton and Borage both left the school in protest, but the headmaster simply received their resignations with "much regret" and proceeded to hire replacements. Now that the war was over, there was no shortage of applicants.

Harry, however, was more than a bit confused over Remus' choice for a new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, and spent more than a few minutes puzzling over it with Ron and Hermione. A former games shop owner? What did a shop owner know about Defense Against the Dark Arts?

The three of them were still whispering about it when their first class began with Professor Bishop clearing his throat, an impish twinkle in his eyes.

"I think we'll begin this term with a little review of the history of the Dark Arts," Bishop began. "But instead of studying Tom Marvolo Riddle's rise to power—because I'm sure you've all learned plenty about that already—let's begin with Gellert Grindelwald..."

-----------

That year was indeed one full of surprises for Harry, not the least of which came with an owl from his parents informing Harry that he'd be an older brother before too long. Albus Potter was born a few weeks after Harry returned home for the summer holidays, a red and squirming bundle of laughter.

Albus took some getting used to; Harry was torn between embarrassment (he didn't want to think of his parents as _that _young!) and glee. In the end, he settled for knowing that having younger siblings obviously hadn't harmed any of the (many) Weasleys, and that Albus might turn out to be rather fun once he stopped drooling on everything in sight.

He had a rather eclectic collection of godparents, Albus did, between the other three Marauders, Molly Weasley, Severus Snape, and the strangely pleased Professor Bishop, who'd accepted with a sad look in his eye. Lily had never bothered to explain that choice to anyone, even Bishop, but everyone involved felt that his presence brought a weird amount of closure to matters left undone.

-----------

Some reporter (rather dramatically) called that season the Summer of Hope as the Wizarding World finally moved into the future, taking a breath of fresh air for the first time in twenty-four years. Life went on, finally, and the world slowly returned to the lazy normality it had known before the outbreak of war.

-----------

Frank Longbottom returned to the Aurors after a lengthy stint commanding Nurmengard Prison. It took several years for Alice to follow him; bedridden for years even after waking from her coma, she was never quite the same again. Still, she managed the administrative side at Auror headquarters expertly, though she would never go on another field mission. She'd survived, which St. Mungo's still viewed as nothing short of a miracle.

Perhaps it was her lasting disabilities that made up Neville's mind; when the Aurors tried to recruit him following his O.W.L.s, he sent them packing. Neither of his parents pushed; they were just glad to see him find his own way.

-----------

Sirius and Julia waited three long years before tying the knot; rumors that they'd married in secret (or each married someone else!) abounded until they finally gave in, letting Lily Potter and Molly Weasley plan what was widely held to be the largest and most luxurious wedding in Wizarding history. Of course, Hermione Granger told anyone who would listen that Morgana Malfoy's wedding in 1819 had actually been far larger, but Sirius and Julia weren't exactly concerned.

He stayed on with the Aurors, officially heading the Department of Magical Law Enforcement while leaving much of the day-to-day running of things with the Longbottoms. Julia resumed her travels and discoveries, and Sirius went with her most of the time, reveling in the freedom of anonymity when the day finally came that the entire Wizarding World did not recognize his face.

Neither found quite as much trouble as they would have liked, of course—the mere name of Sirius Black was enough to send most rabble-rousers running for the hills—but they managed to stay occupied.

They never did have kids. Sirius once joked that the Auror Candidates were all the children he'd ever need, and besides, they babysat Albus often enough (and Arabella Potter when she followed just nineteen months later) that they hardly needed children of their own. When Remus finally married two years after Sirius and Julia (into the Black family, no less), Sirius found himself an uncle yet again, twice over. No, they weren't worried. There'd be plenty of little Tonks-Lupin Blacks to carry on the family line.

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Peter did marry (twice) before realizing that the life of a bachelor really did suit him better. He, too, drew plenty of babysitting duties, though he somehow always managed to be on a critical diplomatic mission during the teething phase.

But James enacted his revenge when he and Arthur both retired from the Ministry, James having reached the ripe old age of fifty. Peter wound up being elected as Minister of Magic, a job he stayed with for almost fifteen years (each and every one of them begging Arthur to _please _stop with this inventing gadgets business and run against him in an election) before turning the job over to a very bored Lily Potter.

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But no matter where they went, and no matter how far apart life could pull them, the Marauders stayed together. Once a year, beginning in 1993 with the anniversary of their very first meeting on the Hogwarts Express, they went down to the same secret passageway and read the words off the wall:

_True friendships never really die_

_And family isn't defined by blood_

_It's made strong by bonds that won't break_

_Tempered and tested by trials and pain_

_What we are is brothers, and as such we remain_

_Loyal to one another until the end_

_And no matter what happens between this moment and then_

_I shall be always thankful to have had such friends._

**

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**

FINIS.

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The (Final) Other Author's Note: So, it's been a long time coming, this. And it's crazy enough that I've actually managed to finish this baby on the sixth anniversary of the first chapter of _Promises Unbroken _being posted—imagine that! But…the story _isn't _over, believe it or not. I've long promised _Promises Honored_, the 'prologue' of sorts to the entire Unbroken Universe…and it's up. So, please do check out the story of Sirius' capture and his time in Azkaban, the prelude to promises, so to speak, here on FFN.


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